A Wizard in Amber
by BlindJedi
Summary: Chronicles of Amber crossover. Prince Corwin strolls down a street on the shadow earth ready for anything but what he finds. In fact, it will change his plans for Amber completely. NaNoWrimo. Rated for language and violence.
1. Story Introduction

**A WIZARD IN AMBER**

By

BlindJedi

INTRODUCTION

This is a work I never thought I would get around to even starting. It will, as you see as you read, be a story that will span many worlds; in fact, you could say all worlds, if the plain and simple truth is known.

Mainly, you will see the worlds of Harry Potter, whose characters, places, names, etc, are the property of J. K. Rowling. Likewise, the Chronicles of Amber will play an extremely large role in this story. These characters are owned by the deceased Roger Zelazny, may he rest in peace in whatever shadow world he ended up in.

Summary: Who would have guessed that a stroll past a simple grade school in a small town in England would have such an impact on the future of our world, of all worlds, even? Prince Corwin of Amber never did. Yet that is what happens when he sees a little boy being chased by some bullies and sees how the little fellow reacts to them. Seeing someone vanish and reappear on the roof of a school building is not something Corwin is used to, and it is a power he is determined to utilize in his attempt to take the throne of his immortal Amber, the land of his birth and something he has coveted for years untold.

**Other notes:** As mentioned, this story will have multiple crossovers. The main two have already been pointed out, and I will leave it to you, dear reader, to work out the rest. Credit will be given accordingly in the chapters after the crossover(s).

This story is rated "M", mostly because of harsh language and the potential, nay the near certainty, of violence.

Other than this chapter, author notes will be kept to a minimum. Only acknowledgements of borrowed sources of material will be acknowledged before each section.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, descriptions, etc, are the work of this author, except where noted.

One final note. This story is in response to the National Novel Writing Month. Please visit www dot nanowrimo dot org (take out the spaces), for more information.


	2. Lady Luck Smiles

**A WIZARD IN AMBER**

One: Lady Luck Smiles

AN: Begins during Guns of Avalon and before Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.

&-#&-#

After countless years of life, it should not have come as a big surprise to me when a simple plan fell to pieces as most simple plans are wont to do. In fact, for me, simple plans never seemed to work out. Perhaps it is fate that plays these tricks on me; perhaps it is a curse that we in whose veins flows the life blood of Amber are born with. I am not, in general, a philosopher, despite what Freud and other notable names in my past might say.

Regardless of the circumstances, fate was not ready for me to have an easy walk back to Amber to rest the throne from my brother Eric. This is how it happened.

Ganelon and I had left Antwerp some three weeks before and had been touring around Europe. It was strange for me being back in Europe, being back on this shadow earth in fact. For Ganelon, it was an entirely new experience. It was also a chore to have to learn a language, since no language known on this shadow earth was spoken either in Avalon or in Lorraine, the only two places with which my erstwhile companion were familiar. I chose for him to learn English, thinking that either that language or German would be the best suited for him to learn. He took to it very quickly which I was glad to see. It meant that we were able to travel through much more of the land that I had planned.

It also gave fate the opening for which it was waiting.

My contact in Antwerp, an ex-RAF guy, had contacted me and told me about a friend of his in England who might be able to assist with some of my weapons needs. As I was in a hurry to conclude my business here as rapidly as possible in order to turn my sites towards finding the troops I would need to assail forbidding Mount Kolvir, and afterwards Amber if necessary, I agreed to meet with this Helm character. After much changing of trains, not to mention getting on the wrong bus once, we finally reached the suburb of Greater Whinging in which this Helm character was currently living. After looking around the area, it occurred to me to wonder why anyone in the line of business I was seeking would ever want to live in a place like this. Of course, my own military experience quickly came to the fore and I decided that this would actually be a perfect place to set up shop, a community where the residents obviously believed that there waste products had no odor and while money didn't grow on trees, it did, perhaps, fall from the topmost branches.

Ganelon and I followed the directions we had been given to the community of Little Whinging … and that was where the snag hit.

It didn't seem like much, really. We were walking down a street of squat, square houses, each one looking the same as those around it down to the very plants cultivated in the gardens, when, rounding a corner, I happened to glance over to my left and saw them. There were five or six of them. There leader, a boy of around seven or so, was a blond … thing. That was the best I could think of. Even now, I shudder to call such a creature a boy. It actually looked like a thing that Green Peace hadn't managed to coax back in to the ocean. How it could run at all was beyond me. As I watched him ooze his way down the street, I thought sardonically to myself that if this … boy … ever fell in love, he'd break it damned sure.

His buddies were not quite as big as he was, and one was a little skinny runt with small, squinty eyes. But what really caught my attention with this group of ruffians was the boy they were chasing.

He was a small, skinny boy with jet black hair, not dissimilar from my own. The only great difference was that where my hair was slightly wavy and tapered in the back, his mop looked like someone had stuck his hand inside an electric fence and forgotten to shut it off. He had geeky-looking glasses, and I thought I could see that they were held together by tape. For the moment that was all I could see. Actually, I'm surprised I could see that much of him as fast as he was running. That little ragamuffin could really turn on the jets when he needed to. That was obvious from the start. But that wasn't what interested me. It was obvious that Wally the Whale and his merry band were chasing the boy, and, from the way they were laughing and jeering as they attempted to catch him, not to mention the way the poor fellow was dressed, it obviously wasn't the first time. After all, bullies usually go after the same target again and again.

I had unconsciously slowed down to watch the tableau which was unfolding before me. Now, as I continued to observe, I saw the street rat had erred badly, having run in to a dead end. He was fenced in on one side by the back of what I took to be a school; a chain link fence separated him from a chance at freedom on his right and behind him, and the Blob and his gang were barreling in from the front.

I started to turn away, ready to resume my way and leave the little one to what promised to be a good old fashion thrashing, when the boy … vanished.

I'd seen enough things in my life to make even the most steadfast person blanch with terror or incredulity. Even I had never seen a little boy vanish in to thin air.

His presence was not a mystery to me long, however. Cries of shock from the bullies brought me back to the moment, and I noticed them looking up and pointing. I followed there furious gazes, and there, wide-eyed with amazement and fear, was the ragamuffin. He was some thirty feet off the ground, perched rather precariously on the edge of the school roof.

I am not given to indecision very often, and this was no exception. I knew that what I had seen had not been a trick. It was true that not too long ago, my eyes had been burnt out of my head with hot irons, but we children of Amber are blessed with amazing healing abilities. It even extended to the regrowing of eyes, as I learned first hand. It had taken about four years to completely have my vision back, but now it was as perfect as it had ever been. As proof of this, I had only to look over at Ganelon to see his surprised expression to know that my eyes were not playing tricks on me.

It can also be said that I can be a rather selfish bastard. It is the way, again, of the royal family in Amber. We tend to be many things, not all of them good. We are sometimes honorable, sometimes courteous, occasionally chivalrous. We are also sneaky, sly, paranoid to the extreme in some cases, and ruthless in getting what we wanted. That only scratches the surface of me and my family, but it is enough to let you understand exactly how complex we could be.

Hardly had the boy vanished and reappeared on the roof of the school, then I had reached my decision. The taking of Amber would have to wait. If this mere scrap of a boy could vanish and reappear at will, then what else might he be able to do? I had a moment's pause when I saw his face with its frightened expression. I believe that part of his fear might have been the walking bread truck who, after recovering his breath from his waddling pursuit, called up to the boy. It sounded like "Freak, I'm telling Mum and Dad. You'll be locked in your cupboard for a year this time." Yes, I believe that part of his fear was caused by that statement. I also had the idea that he was uncertain himself how this had happened.

After a moment, my resolve returned to me. Even if he was unaware how to duplicate this ability at will, I would find a way to help him utilize his full potential. He would then assist me out of obligation when I moved to take Amber. If not out of obligation, there were other means at my disposal for persuasion. It would take some time, I knew, to get him fully trained up. And, if he couldn't learn here in this too perfect little purgatory known as Little Whinging, a smaller town than its counterpart, there were always shadows to help.

Turning to Ganelon, I smiled slightly before telling him of my plans. He looked troubled for a second only, and then he nodded his head in acquiescence.

With a last word, I commanded Ganelon to stay with the boy and follow him to his home while I continued on my original path to see this fellow Helm. Yes, I decided as I finally reached the address I had been given, Amber will have to endure a little longer than I had planned.


	3. No Turning Back

Two: No Backing Out

Helm was a big guy, standing a couple of inches taller than my six foot frame. He was also very competent. My business with him was concluded soon; it might have had something to do with the rather sizable commission he would be receiving upon completion of his task. It was certainly due much more to this than to the recommendation of my former friend in the RAF. Regardless, forty five minutes after being shown in to his modest house, I departed and headed back towards where I had left Ganelon.

When I returned to the place where I had left him, I was not overly surprised to find that he was not there. I assumed, correctly as it turned out, that he had indeed followed the tramp from the school to wherever he called home. Knowing that I would have a few minutes at the least, I turned my attention back to my plans for the boy.

What thoughts passed through my head and what plans I decided upon are not things you need to know just now. Suffice it to say that when Ganelon returned, a slight look of apprehension marring his countenance, I had decided many things upon the future of my unknowing protégé.

"Corwin," Ganelon said once he had stopped by my side. "I followed the boy as you instructed. He lives within an easy walk of here."

The man paused again.

"Can you believe that he is related to that fat thing that was about to pulverize him? No one should have to endure that every day. Kid probably has psychological damage just from looking at the whale every day."

That did surprise me. I told him so.

"I did find out that they were cousins. And, if you believe it, the fat one's father is even more hideous to look upon than he is."

"And how did you determine that they were cousins?"

It was very hard to miss the fact that while the uncle dragged the skinny kid in the house by the scruff of his neck, he was yelling for the whole world to hear about how he would pay for "using that freakiness on your wonderful cousin. After all we have done for you!""

"Hmmm, so the uncle knows something about the boy's abilities?"

"It would seem so. I waited to see no more, but came back here to tell you about what I had seen."

"Very good," I praised him. "I don't suppose you caught the boy's name?"

"no. I only heard him referred to as Freak."

"I see. Well, in that case, I don't suppose they will have any problems talking to us to get the boy off their hands if they despise him so much."

"Corwin, are you sure about this, about using the boy, I mean?"

At my withering glare, Ganelon fell silent. I had to remind myself sometimes that this Ganelon was different from the one I had known so long ago in Avalon. He was no longer quite so brash, and every time he had questioned me since I had come to Lorraine where he was considered to be the regent, he had shown me nothing but a great maturity that I would not have believed possible from the man if I had not seen it for myself. The fact that he had forgiven me for his violent exile from Avalon through shadow to that land of Lorraine was surprise enough to me. The fact that he had offered to serve and aid me in my endeavors even should I indeed attempt to regain Amber had been a bit suspicious at first, but he had done nothing to warrant my mistrust to this point in our journey. I had thought he might have elected to remain in the shadow Avalon where my brother Benedict now held sway, seeing as it had been his life's dream to return to the place of his birth. However, again he had surprised me and set out with me on my road to regain Amber.

All of this is to say that while I did not trust him completely, I would be a fool to trust anyone completely, I trust him probably more than anyone else at the moment. Therefore, I deigned to give him an answer.

"Yes, I'm sure, Ganelon," I told him. "If things are as bad for the boy as you seem to indicate, then he will be better off with us. And, if he can indeed prove himself useful, I even intend to hold off my attack on Amber until he can be trained to use his strange powers."

He regarded me for a moment, shrugged, and nodded. Then, surprisingly, he smiled.

"Well, Corwin, shall we go see a fat man about a boy?"

Indeed, it was time to do just that.


	4. Freak Meets Freak

Three: Freak Meets Freak

The man who opened the door of number four, Privet Drive, was nothing more than an adult version of the whale whom we had already seen. Large, beefy, no neck, a face that seemed constantly constipated. All of this made no very great impression on me as he studied s through his narrowed, piggy eyes.

"What the devil do you two want," he asked in a voice that nearer to a shout than anything else.

I thought about trying the pleasant approach first. After all, I didn't really expect it to work, but no one would be able to say that I hadn't tried.

"Good afternoon, sir. My name is Carl Corey, and this is my associate, Philip Donovan. May we come in for a moment?"

If possible, his eyes narrowed even more.

"I'm not interested in buying anything. Good day."

He began to slam the door in our faces. Well, I had not thought that pleasantness would go very far with this oaf.

I reached out and pushed gently on the door. Now, this would not have worked for an ordinary man, but I may say with no boasting whatsoever, that I am no ordinary man. That gentle push sent the fat man flying backwards to land on his ass with a thud that shook the whole house and, from the sounds of it, caused something quite heavy to break.

"Thank you for letting us in, sir," said I, smile still affixed to my face. "Come along, Phil."

'Phil' followed me inside quickly, shutting the door behind him. By then, the fat man had struggled his way to his feet, face blotchy with impotent rage.

I opened my mouth to continue these false niceties, but a horrible wailing sound assaulted my senses before I could begin. Coming in from another room in the house was a tall thin woman who had a neck that resembled that of a giraffe. Unlike a giraffe, however, her voice sounded more like that of a hyena caught in its death throws. I quickly grew tired of the caterwauling and roared back at her to shut her gob!

By this time, the fat man had regained as much of his senses as he was ever likely to and interposed himself between us and the giraffe.

"Now, sirs, I insist you leave my house at once. You are breaking and entering, and if you don't leave right away, I'll call the police." He motioned with one fat finger towards the telephone that lay on a nearby table. I was not intimidated in the least, however.

"By all means, sir. Go ahead and call them. Perhaps they would be interested in meeting your nephew when they get here," I replied, still smiling.

The bluff was just that, a bluff. However, I deemed it to be a calculated risk on my part based on Ganelon's tale. Nor was I to be disappointed. In fact, the reaction of the two in front of me was nothing short of marvelous.

The fat man paled so fast that he quickly grew to resemble nothing more than monster blob of pizza dough. Giraffe's screaming stopped so suddenly that you would have thought a switch had been turned. Both of them shot apprehensive glances over at a small cupboard door over to the side, flush up against the foot of a stairwell that led who knows where.

A horrible suspicion gripped me then and, keeping my eyes on our hosts, I motioned Ganelon over to investigate the cupboard's contents. The fat man made a motion to stop him, but I allowed my smile to turn in to a snarl and motioned him to stay put. This he did reluctantly, jowls quivering in what I guessed to be a cross between fury and terror. Giraffe whimpered in consternation.

Ganelon yanked open the closet door, knelt down to look in, and jerked back quickly, letting out a word that would make most mothers blush with mortification. He gathered his wits about him quickly and then turned and peered back inside. He then reached in with both arms, and withdrew the ragamuffin we had seen earlier. Now, however, he looked to be in worse shape than then. Blood was still flowing from a split lip and also a small cut over his left eye. The eye itself was swollen nearly shut and his glasses were missing. The sight of this angered me greatly, but it also made my plans that much more certain. The boy was looking around him with his one good eye, and when his fearful gaze fell upon me, I saw that his eyes were the deepest green I had ever seen, even more so than my own. Also, there was a strange scar over his right eye, something that resembled a lightning bolt. I studied him for another moment while he studied me, and then turned back to the fat man and giraffe.

"You know, I saw the most amazing thing this afternoon," I told them, letting my smile return, only with a bit more coolness behind it this time. "Imagine my surprise to see this boy (I moved my head towards the little one still held in Ganelon's arms) being chased by five or six others and, at a school no less! Imagine my further surprise to see him suddenly go from standing in a dead end alley to up on the school roof.

"In fact, I was so intrigued that I had my associate follow you back to this house. He overheard your admonishments to the boy and that got both of our curiosities peaked. So naturally, we came to see you and to be introduce to such a remarkable young man.

"You are probably asking yourselves why I'm telling you all this. The answer is quite simple; I wish for the boy to come with us and be properly looked after. It would take a blind man to miss the fact that he is underfed and grossly underweight for someone of his age. That was my plan before I saw the two of you."

Here I allowed anger in to my voice, for it was time to lay down the law to these worthless wastes of space.

"Now, after seeing how much you care for him, I've decided you lost the ability to make a choice. The boy will be coming with us and will be properly looked after. I had been going to offer to take him with us as it was obvious he was not cared for. Now, I am telling you what is going to happen."

At this declaration, the horse-faced giraffe gasped while the fat man turned puce with indignation and resentment.

"How we treat The Freak is no concern of yours, you little bastard," the fat man shouted. Spittle flew from his lips in a fine spray and the sight was very repulsive.

I decided to quickly set him straight on a certain matter. In two strides, I had the fat man lifted in the air with my left hand, even though he weighed well over three hundred pounds. Giraffe opened her mouth to shriek again, but I glared at her and shook my head.

"Fat man, you need to keep your mouth shut. It will greatly increase your life expectancy. Although, seeing how you already look like a walking bowling ball, it may already be too late to do much on your life expectancy. Now, the boy is coming with us whether you like it or not. It is clear he is not wanted here. What is his name?"

No answer.

"Boy," I said, turning my head to look at him. "What is your name?" I tried to soften my voice, and it must have worked. After a moment of indecision, he looked back at me with that one green eye.

"Harry, sir. Harry Potter."

"And Harry Potter, my name is Carl Corey, and that nice man holding you is Phil Donovan. Harry, can you collect all of your belongings as you'll be coming with us. Phil can help you."

He thought about it for a moment, biting his lower lip until it bled, then shakily nodded. As he turned away back to the closet with 'Phil', I returned my attention to the fat man still in my grasp.

"Tell me something, fat man. How was he able to get himself up to the roof of that school with no ladder or any other means?"

"Because he's a Freak just like you," the giraffe snarled.

"I assure you that I am no freak. I can't disappear and reappear at will. However, it is clear that you have no intention of giving me answers. It is of no importance, just as you are of no importance. Therefore, we'll be leaving as soon as Phil and Harry are finished."

I finally let go of the fat man, once again causing a mini-earthquake as he struck the floor. Then, we simply waited. It didn't take more than another minute.

They both straightened up from the floor, 'Phil' holding a tiny bundle in the crook of one arm, and the tiny waif standing next to him, looking like one of the Munchkins in that Wizard of OZ movie I had seen once upon a time.

I motioned for Ganelon to pick the kid up and get ready to leave, but before we could even begin to leave the house, Giraffe spoke up.

"You can't take the freak. We are his legal relatives. I am his aunt. And besides, Dumbledore won't allow him to leave here."

The fact that she was his aunt didn't matter to me, nor did what some idiot named Dumbledore would or wouldn't allow bother me one wit. So there was no reason for what I did next. I withdrew my blade, Greyswandir, drawing the keen sword across my finger. Then, when the blood was flowing, I walked over to the little boy and placed my open wound against the matching open wound on his forehead over his right eye, allowing some of my blood to mingle with his own.

"There," I sneered at Giraffe. "We now share the same blood. Any more arguments?"

She had none. She didn't need any. Nor do I think now that she would have known what to say even if she had wanted to put forth any other arguments.

Again, fate must have been laughing, for with that simple action, meant to be a joke more than anything, all my plans were once more blown out the nearest window with hurricane force. Of course, I didn't realize it at that exact moment. It didn't take long, however, before I knew that something was wrong.


	5. Surprise? Oh Yeah!

Four: Surprise? Oh Yeah!

&-&

As I pointed out earlier, the plans I make never seem to end up the way that I made them. Fate, or whatever gods happened to be on Corwin patrol today, apparently thought that my course of action had not yet been altered enough for one day. My plan had been to mock the fat man and the giraffe by smearing my blood on the waif and then claiming that now he was my blood brother. In some tribes around the world, mostly in those that had long since either gone extinct or mingled with the rest of the common filth to save their own bacon, this had once been a common occurrence. Now, as I said, I did it as a joke.

I had just removed my bleeding palm, wound already healing over, from the boy's forehead when he threw his head back, let out a shriek of agony, and doubled over shaking. I was perplexed. My blood should not have had this affect on Potter.

I had jerked back in surprise when he began showing such obvious signs of distress. Now, I went to move forward again to see what was wrong, when the episode stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The boy straightened up again, and only a slight discomfort now marred that tiny face. This time, I saw why.

The boy was growing right before my eyes.

I had never seen anything like it. The boy was literally growing right before my eyes. The structure of his bones was shifting, molding themselves in to something new, and I knew that it could not have been comfortable at all. I can only imagine that it must be a bizarre thing to feel yourself literally growing. It wasn't really all that much, only an inch or two, before he finally stopped. Nevertheless, I could see it happen, and that thought I found quite unsettling.

Even the fat man had seen him grow. If possible, his face had reddened even more, and veins stood out on his neck and forehead. The giraffe was moaning and trying to back up even further, yet she was finding it difficult to do so with the living room wall now pressing in to her back. Ganelon was staring at the boy with open wonder and, I thought, perhaps a bit of apprehension. I could not blame him. I, too, felt a small twitch of unease at what had just happened.

Surprisingly, it was the fat man who moved first. What he did next was either extremely brave or extremely foolish. Having seen him in action, I would have bet a small fortune that it was not the former. He moved forward past me and stopped in front of Potter.

"Well, boy," he said softly, and I was uneasy to see a grim smile tugging at the corners of his fat mouth. "Looks like we're finally getting rid of the Freak that has plagued our house since your worthless parents got themselves killed. Good riddance to you, Freak. But before you go, here's one last thing to remember your kind old Uncle Vernon by."

So saying, he drew back quicker than I thought possible and let loose with a terrific haymaker right at the boy's mouth. I moved quickly to intervene, even as the little ragamuffin threw up his arms wildly to try and ward off the blow. The boy's forearm made contact with the fat man's chest before the blow could descend, and much to my amazement, let alone the boy's, the fat man was propelled backward and caused another earthquake when he bounced off the wall some ten feet away and landed in a twisting blob on the floor, all the air having been knocked from him. From a cabinet over in the corner of the living room, there came a terrific crunching noise as the cabinet swayed precariously, yet somehow remained upright. Giraffe shrieked again, but I ignored her. After all, an uppity bitch like her could afford new china.

The boy was still stunned as he regarded his whale of an uncle, who was groaning with pain and trying to push himself back to his feet.

I waited no more, but putting a firm hand on the boy's shoulder, steered him out of the room and back towards the front door. There was movement, and I saw that Ganelon had moved to flank the boy, also putting a hand on his shoulder in a protective gesture that surprised me, though I guess I should not have been. After all, this was a much matured Ganelon, and he seemed to generally be a more compassionate soul than I had ever remembered.

We exited the house quickly, and I smirked as I somehow managed to trip the junior whale on his way back inside, returning home from who knows where. I smirked even bigger as I decided that it must truly be a day for fat worthless blobs to eat the floor. Listening to him blubbering for his mommy and daddy as we walked down the driveway didn't bother me in the least. From what I had seen, this was the least the porker deserved.

As we began to head down Privet Drive, I was startled to hear the flapping of wings overtaking us, and even more so to see a small, brown owl alight on the boy's skinny shoulders. Apparently, he was surprised to and made to smack the bird away, when, at the same time, we noticed there was some sort of missive attached to its leg. Peering at the envelope, I was surprised to see some sort of coat of arms on the front. Below the intricate design was this puzzling message:

GRINGOTTS WIZARDING BANK

TRUST DEPARTMENT

I was familiar with many different banking industries, but had never heard of one called Gringotts. Neither, it seemed, had the boy. Looking closer, I saw the boy's name on it, with the address being:

MR. H. POTTER

MIDDLE OF THE ROAD

PRIVET DRIVE

LITTLE WHINGING

SURREY

"Well," said I. "Who, or whatever, is writing to you is sure good with addresses."

After a hesitant moment, brilliant green eyes turned to meet my own, and I then noticed that the one that had been swollen barely looked as if anything had happened to it at all. Also, much to my surprise, I noticed that the sorry excuse for glasses he had been wearing seemed to have fallen off at some point. It didn't seem to be as if the boy had noticed, however. I think all of the excitement must have been too much for the lad.

"Can I open it," came that soft voice, barely above a whisper.

"You need not ask my permission," I told him. "After all, it is addressed to you."

A small smile tried to fight its way on to his mouth as he reached up, stroked the perched owl, then removed the strange envelope from the owl's leg. I was even more surprised when, having been relieved of its burden, the owl hooted once, almost as if to say "about time", spread its wings and took to the skies again. Soon, it was no more than a speck on the horizon.

The boy was busy tearing open the envelope, and it didn't take long for him to do so. As he opened it, a small, gold key fell from the envelope and the boy, moving quicker than just about anyone I had ever seen (and yes, I am including myself in this), reached out his hand and plucked the key out of midair as it headed for the ground.

It was fortunate that I had been clasping the boy by one bony shoulder whilst Ganelon did the same on the other side. No sooner had the boy's fingers touched the key, then I felt some sort of horrible jerking sensation grab me by the naval. If I had to compare it to something, I would say that it was similar to how a fish must feel once it has been caught, being jerked helplessly around until it loses any sense of orientation. To be honest, I also thought of a turd being pulled inexorably towards the drain after a flush. I know the imagery is disgusting, but well, friends, that is exactly what it made me think of, and I will make no excuses for relating it here.

When the feeling finally subsided, seemingly an eternity later, we were each of us unceremoniously dumped on our asses in the middle of the strangest room that I believe I had ever seen.

It was a bank; that much was obvious from the rows of desks lined in neat rows all along the wall towards the front of the room. That was the only thing that told me it was a bank. It only took one glance at the tellers to realize that they were not human. The tallest was probably no more than a head taller than the boy, even after his growth spurt. Some of them had straggly bits of hair on their heads; some were completely bald; all of them were dressed as if for battle. Axes and scimitars were carried by every one of the creatures that I could see.

If the bankers were strange, the customers were no less a wonder to behold. They were human. Of that, I had no doubt. Well, I amended my thought on second glance, most of them were human. But the way they were dressed? I wasn't sure whether to cringe or start laughing. They looked like a race of monks, or perhaps they were all suiting up to go to a drag show. Regardless, to see a room full of these people standing meekly in line to be waited upon by the … things … almost had me in tears of laughter.

Looking over at Ganelon and the boy broke my resolve, and I let forth a loud laugh. It was laughter such as I had not managed in years uncounted. The boy's look of shock appeared to be giving way to faintness. Even as I laughed, I unconsciously tightened my grip on that skinny shoulder, and tried to project a wave of comfort through to him. I didn't want him to die on me. He had much to accomplish before that could happen.

What had really sealed the deal for me though was seeing the fearless Ganelon, he who had fought countless battles at my side and faced creatures that would make any sane person run for the hills in terror just as calmly as you please, had proceeded the boy in fainting. I laughed so hard that I think a few tears escaped my eyes, and it was not until a polite cough from behind me caught my attention, that my mirth began to subside.

Turning around, I saw one of the little … critters … was watching us, a bemused expression seeming to break through the sneer that seemed prominent to the members of his race. When he snapped his fingers and a blast of water emerged from nowhere to soak the good Ganelon, I started laughing again, whether in amazement or amusement or both, I can not say.

What brought me back to my senses was when I noticed how the little fellow was staring at young Potter, almost seeming to be looking for something. Apparently, he saw what he was looking for, because after another moment, he stood up to his full less-than-intimidating height, and spoke in a voice that sounded like a teenager with a retainer trying to gargle rocks.

"Mr. Potter. I am Nutsack, and I am glad to see that you received my letter so promptly."

Surprising me, Potter … No, I must think of him as Harry now … his name is Harry … found his voice and, blushing profusely, stammered out,

"Sir, no disrespect meant, but who … what … are you?"

I could tell that the little guy didn't like the question, yet he answered civilly enough.

"Mr. Potter. I am a goblin. Gringotts is run by goblins, as you can see. My title … Well, that is also easy. I am Nutsack, Gringotts manager of the Trust Department. I would ask that you and your companions follow me in to a conference room. There, I will be happy to answer any questions you may have.

With a snap of his fingers, the still dripping Ganelon was suddenly dry again. Then, motioning us to follow, Nutsack led the way down a short hall way off the lobby of the bank, stopping at the third door on the left. He indicated that we should go inside, and this we proceeded to do.

"I shall return in a moment," Nutsack said. "I must get the Potter account manager, Prickgrip. Also, President Clamlapper may wish to speak with you himself, Mr. Potter, as your family has been a client at Gringotts for many generations."

Nutsack went out then, giving no time for questions. I could tell that Harry was extremely lost, left with no clue as to what to do. I resolved to help him get through it. He was, after all, my responsibility now.

Oh, and was he ever.


	6. Anatomical Goblins

Six: Anatomical Gringotts

&-&

Luckily for us, the conference room that we were left in was perfectly normal. I feel no hesitation in saying that this was one of the few normal things that happened that day. The room consisted only of a table set up for seven or eight people and a small side table for refreshments. I proceeded to seat myself in one of the chairs as my companions did the same. I wasn't sure, but I thought I felt the chair shift slightly as I sat down. One thing I can say for certain is that it was one of the most comfortable chairs upon which I have ever rested.

Nutsack did not keep us waiting long. He reentered the room with a couple of other of the goblins in tow. The first one was slightly larger than he was. He was a thin fellow with deeply slanting eyes. I had an immediate distrust of him, though I could not say why. Nevertheless, I decided to keep an open mind, but I would still keep a close eye on him while we were there. The next goblin was the tallest by far of any that I had yet seen. I believe he probably reached the middle of my chest. He also had the most hair I had seen on a goblin. It was not until later that I learned that the more hair a goblin had, the greater was his status. He had a thick mane of copper-colored hair on top of his head, and he even had some hair around the corners of his mouth. His rich adornments and gold-hilted sword, coupled with the confidence in his stride as he entered left me in no doubt that this must be the president of the goblin nation, Clamlapper. I had to hold in another snicker as the sexual innuendo of the names I had thus far heard in the goblin nation struck me full force. I fleetingly wondered exactly who named these creatures? It was obvious someone with a sick sense of humor was involved.

The newcomers scrutinized each of us in turn as they entered the room. Seeing as this was the upper echelons of the goblin nation, I decided that standing as they entered might be a good idea. This I did, joined by the other two after a look and a short nod.

I did not claim to be an expert in goblin expressions, but I would judge that our actions pleased Clamlapper, as he graced us with a regal nod and then proceeded to take the chair at the head of the table. Prickgrip was seated to his left with Nutsack on the right. Once all three were seated, we again sat down.

After another moment spent studying us, Clamlapper spoke up.

"Mr. Potter, I welcome you and your party to Gringotts Bank."

The shy little boy managed a polite thank you, all the while continuing to study the goblins with acute interest and not a small amount of wonder.

Clamlapper nodded again, then flicked his finger. All three of us jumped as a steaming pot of tea with the accompaniments appeared on the small side table. The president gestured with polite invitation to the service, and Prickgrip rose at once. After we each had a steaming mug in front of us, Clamlapper again spoke.

"Mr. Potter, I must apologize that it has taken us so long to get in touch with you. However, until your blood adoption we were unable to locate you for some reason. We brought you he---"

I don't think that the president was used to being cut off, but interrupted he was at this point. I had been sipping my tea, a rather yummy Chai, when the import of Clamlapper's words set in. Blood adoption? Had my poor attempt at humoring fat Vernon and his giraffe-like wife really been a blood adoption? I refused to believe it. There was no way such a simple action could result in an adoption. Then, unwillingly, my mind thought back to the boy's reaction when my blood touched him. I remembered how it seemed to cause him pain for a moment, then how he had shot up a couple of inches immediately afterward. I thought of how he now appeared to be healed and how his glasses were absent. Was it really possible?

I'm sure, therefore, that you can understand my amazed response to the statement that I had blood adopted the boy.

I dropped my porcelain teacup, and it shattered rather noisily on the floor.

Clearing his throat, the president looked at me in annoyance. "Is there something you wish to say, sir?"

"Mr. President," I decided to be formally polite, at least. "I don't see how the boy could be blood adopted. We haven't known each other more than probably twenty minutes. In fact, I don't think I've even given him my proper name."

The head goblin's eyes narrowed as they studied me.

"Well, Mister …"

"It's Corwin. Just Corwin."

"Well, Corwin, apparently how long you have known Mr. Potter does not seem to matter in this case. Magic does not lie, and the magic used by Gringotts recorded a blood adoption less than twenty five minutes ago."

He shot a questioning look over at Ganelon. That worthy gentleman shook his head and pointed back at me.

"Well, it is easy enough to determine the validity of the adoption."

Clamlapper said something in a strange guttural language to Nutsack who nodded and left the room. He returned in a few moments carrying a small ornamental dagger and a small basin. Nutsack approached me and handed the dagger to me.

"One drop of blood, if you please," he gargled out.

What the hell? I decided that nothing else could surprise me, so why not cooperate. I pricked my finger with the dagger, after being assured that the dagger was completely sanitary. I let one drop of blood fall in to the bowl. There was a tingling, and when I looked, the tip of my finger was completely healed as if nothing had even happened. From somewhere, Nutsack had produced a small phial of a brownish-looking liquid. This, he proceeded to pour in to the bowl. It hissed for a moment, then went still again.

Nutsack then turned to the boy, holding out the same dagger. I noticed that at some point, it had been miraculously cleaned of the evidence of my blood. The boy had been watching me with an expression somewhere between wariness and hope. Really, I thought, who could blame the kid? I'm sure it wasn't every day that something like this happened to him to turn his life completely around. I feel equally confident that the boy was willing to do just about anything to get away from his loving family, and looked at me as some sort of savior, which, of course, was as I intended it to be. He took the dagger willingly enough when the goblin held it out to him. After a wince, as if expecting it to be very painful, he pricked his own finger and let a drop of blood fall in to the bowl which Nutsack was holding out for him. The glop proceeded to royal and bubble for a moment, then the liquid again settled down, now a bright purple color.

Prickgrip now produced a piece of parchment from somewhere, still scowling at the whole procedure. Nutsack upended the contents of the bowl on to the paper, and then sat back to watch. I was mesmerized as the liquid seemed to be absorbed in to the parchment, and then I was truly amazed as writing began to appear, done in that same vibrant purple color. Nutsack glanced down, nodded, and proceeded to hand the parchment to the president. Clamlapper also regarded it, then turned back to us.

"What you have just participated in was a test for heritage," he explained patiently. "This parchment shows the family tree of both of you. It is now certain that whether you intended it or not, the blood adoption is entirely legal and entirely true."

I tensed for a moment, wondering how the goblin would react to my family tree, seeing names like Benedict, Gérard, Random, Brand, Deirdre, Fiona, and the rest of my somewhat dysfunctional family. Whatever his opinion on the subject matter, he must have decided that it was unimportant.

He slid the parchment down the table to me, and I pulled it towards me, motioning for Harry to lean in to look. Ganelon, too, leaned in.

It was a family tree alright. I was familiar enough with one side. There was Dworkin at the top, and beneath his name was that of my father, Oberon. Beneath that of Oberon, I saw the names of all of my family members. There were my brothers: Benedict, Bleys, Brand, Caine, Eric (even the sight of that name brought a sneer to my lips), Gérard, Julian, and Random. There were my sisters also: Deirdre, Flora, Fiona, and Llewella. I noticed that there were some names that were blackened on the parchment, and this I knew to be where the names of my deceased relatives were. If colors were indeed the appropriate representations, then my father was still alive, something I had believed but been uncertain of up until now. I was not sure exactly how I felt about this, but decided it didn't matter at the moment. What mattered was the single stem below my name. Attached to my name, as well as to the blackened names of Lily and James Potter, was the name Harry James Potter.

Yes, it was official. Fate indeed hated my princely ass.

Sadly, the day wasn't over yet.

My attention was taken off the parchment by a low hiss. Prickgrip had stood up quickly, knocking his chair over in the process. The gleaming blade in his stubby hand left no doubt as to his intention. If there had been doubt, it was erased almost immediately as the malevolent gaze of Prickgrip focused on Harry. His sword arm flew up and back, and then forward again, sending the blade on its deadly trajectory.

I moved to unsheathe Greyswandir, but I knew I would never be in time.

There was a thunk, a grunt, a moan, and blood flew as the body slowly fell forward.


	7. Bad, Bad Prickgrip

Six: Bad, Bad Prickgrip

I noticed that Clamlapper had leapt to his feet shortly after the traitorous Prickgrip. Quick as he was, Nutsack was faster. Scarce had the blade left Prickgrip's fingers than Nutsack's own blade was moving, and Prickgrip's head rolled limply, landing face up on the table, the grimace on his face now frozen forever.

For a moment, there was complete silence. I'm not certain, but I believe that the two remaining goblins were stupefied at the actions of their now dead colleague. We were brought back to reality by a whimpering coming from under the table. Ganelon and I both knelt down, ready to see the boy breathing out his last few breaths. Much to my secret delight, this was not the case. In my rush to retrieve my blade, I had failed to see Harry throw himself out of the chair and roll underneath the nearest protection. It was a good thing that his reflexes were honed by years of being chased by his fat cousin and his equally mentally deficient gang. It had saved his life. The blade thrown by the treacherous creature had been flung with deadly accuracy. The hilt now protruded from the back of the cushioned chair right where the lad's head had been less than two seconds before. In one corner of my mind, I wondered if his brain had even had time to register his body's reactions.

The two remaining goblins hastened around to the lower end of the table, concern and shock writ largely upon their countenances.

"Mr. Potter, are you okay?" The concern in Clamlapper's voice was unmistakable. I had a feeling that goblins did not often show any sort of emotions in the presence of those they considered beneath their notice. From what I had seen in the lobby on our arrival, I believe we were the exception, not the rule.

I was still surprised when the president himself knelt down and offered Harry a hand up. Warily, Harry held out his hand and allowed Clamlapper to assist him up.

The goblins were efficient, I'll give them that. In five minutes or there about, a goblin clean up crew had come, worked with amazing rapidity to clean the room, and removed the dead little monster. In fact, when they left, I saw no visible evidence that violence had occurred in this room at all. Harry had recovered a little bit of color by then, and managed to ask Nutsack in a tremulous voice what would happen to Prickgrip? I doubted he would be comforted by the reply, and I was glad that none was forthcoming. I did hope, however that the boy had missed the way the goblins licked their lips and grinned. I sure knew what it meant.

Once Harry had calmed down again with the help of a strong cup of tea, Clamlapper began to speak again.

"Mr. Potter, we at Gringotts must apologize to you and your guardian. I have no idea why the traitor acted the way he did, and his actions will be investigated thoroughly. You have my promise on that. Also, rest assured that you will have adequate compensation from us for this shameful deed."

"Sir, it really isn't necessary," Harry told him in his soft voice. "You are not responsible for his actions."

Again, the barest hint of a smile touched the mouth of the goblin elder.

"Mr. Potter, you truly have a refreshing attitude. I certainly appreciate you saying that we are blameless in this matter. Nevertheless, this affront occurred in goblin territory and was caused by a goblin. I'm sure that your guardian will explain the etiquette of the matter at a later time. But for now, know that I will personally see that you receive a compensation that is suited to the deed."

I made a mental note that one of the things that Harry and I would be discussing during his tutelage would be how to react in a situation like this. It was understandable that he had no idea how to work a situation to his benefit, and that would have to change and quickly. He was very fortunate that Clamlapper appeared to be genuine in his liking for the boy. I'm sure that my presence also added a bit of wariness to our host. For now, I was satisfied.

"Mr. Potter, since it appears that I keep getting interrupted by situations out of our control, I will be blunt now. The fact that you are here at Gringotts with your guardian and, apparently your new father, (he couldn't help but smirk at this), you are now entitled to hear the Will of your birth parents."

He nodded at Nutsack, who had been flipping through the papers that Prickgrip had brought with him as the now former Potter account manager. Nutsack hesitated for a moment, then said something in that strange language to his boss, then cleared his throat. The sound was not pleasant.

"This is the Will of James Bonderman Potter and Lily Evans Potter. I ask that you hold all questions to the end, as I'm sure that you will have several.

"Mr. Potter, your parents wrote one Will together. It states that should one of them die, then their assets would be left to the survivor. However, should both be deceased, your care is to be handled by the following; Sirius Orion Black, Godfather, Remus John Lupin, honorary uncle, Frank and Alice Longbottom, Alice being your Godmother, Brant and Alicia Davis, or any wizarding party agreed upon by a mutual consensus of all of the above. All assets are to be held in trust for you until you reach the wizarding age of majority, seventeen human years. A separate account has been set up to pay for any expenses incurred by raising you, as well as to pay for your schooling. Under no circumstances are you to be sent to live with Vernon and Petunia Dursley."

The goblin was interrupted here by Harry springing to his feet. It was rather an amusing sight seeing this little stick figure displaying such an angry expression, and I can tell you that I had a hard time keeping my amusement off my face.

"Can you please explain to me how I wound up with those sorry excuses for ferret droppings, then?" He actually was a bit more colorful than that, but I don't think a boy of his age that knows so much foul language needs to have it recorded. Perhaps when he was older I would remind him of this outburst.

"Mr. Potter, I understand that you are upset, and I can tell you that we at Gringotts were unable to ensure that this Will was followed. You see, I can now tell you since you asked that another Will written by your parents was produced by the Ministry of Magic. Now before you ask, the one at the Ministry was a forged Will, but no one will take a goblin's word over a wizard's."

"And do you know who exactly forged this work?" The question came from Ganelon, and I started a bit. I had almost forgotten that he was present.

I think that Nutsack had also forgotten, and, after shooting him a dirty look, for interrupting I surmised, turned back to Harry.

"The Ministry's Will was forged by the same person who witnessed your parents' true and correct Will, one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

That was the second time I had heard that name today, and I was already growing to dislike the man, for man I assumed it was.

Harry's next question made me laugh in spite of the serious situation.

"Exactly who allowed Owlpiss Dumped-on-Cork the authority to do that?"

I somehow doubted that many people were privy to the sight of the president of the goblin nation spitting tea across the table while doubling over with laughter. Nutsack, too, was quivering with mirth. That sight started me laughing again also. Ahh, the wit of a small boy, an abused and malnourished boy at that. It warmed my heart in a way I hardly knew was possible.

Once we all had our mirth under control, Nutsack answered the question.

"Well, Mr. Potter, the reason that Owlpiss Dumped-on-Cork (he snickered again), could do this is that he is considered beyond reproach by most witches and wizards. Not only is he the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, but he is also the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, reputed by most to be the best school for teaching magic in the world.

Figuring that since I was apparently the boy's son whether I liked it or not, I decided that I needed to insert myself into the conversation.

"But surely he doesn't walk all over the wishes of every wizard or witch who loses a family member?"

Both goblins blinked and sat up a little straighter, staring at me with a mix of incredulity and astonishment.

"Surely, Mr. Corwin, you are aware of Mr. Potter's unusual .. circumstances!" It was the president who made this shocked statement.

"Well, considering I met Mr. Potter .. Harry .. less than two hours ago, I feel quite confident that there is a great deal about his life that I don't know."

From the look on his face, I was sure Harry agreed with me.

"Well, Mr. Corwin. Well, Mr. Ganelon. Well, Mr. Potter," Clamlapper looked entirely too smug. "It sounds like you've had a rather strange day so far, and I can tell you with certainty that it is about to get stranger."

Over the next twenty minutes, we received a brief history of the wizarding world, at least the events relevant to Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. We were told of the terror caused by Lord Voldemort and his followers. We learned the difference between pureblood, half-blood, and Muggle-born. I found the term Muggle a bit funny. We learned of the Ministry of Magic's pathetic attempts to deal with Voldemort. Albus Dumbledore and his role in fighting the maniac was also explained. We were told how Harry's parents opposed Voldemort at every turn.

We were told of Sirius Black and his supposed betrayal of the Potters to Voldemort. When it was mentioned about how Sirius Black had given up the Potters through something called the Fidelius Charm, both goblins exchanged a quick glance. I resolved to find out why later.

We were then given the sad details of how, on Halloween of 1980, Voldemort showed up at the Potters. Details were sketchy, but what was known was that Voldemort had dueled James Potter, killing him quickly before the others could escape. It was then believed that Voldemort went to kill Harry, murdering Lily Potter when she refused to move out of his way. He then cast the unblockable Killing Curse upon little Harry.

"And that," Nutsack concluded, "is where things went very wrong for him. No one knows how or why, but the curse struck you, Mr. Potter, right there." Nutsack pointed to the lightning bolt scar on the boy's forehead.

"The curse rebounded upon the Dark Lord, destroying his body and casting his spirit out. You are the first person to survive the Killing Curse, and the people of the wizarding world see you as a savior of sorts. In fact, you are known to them as the Boy-Who-Lived. Many believe that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, as he is often called, is dead. We goblins know better, as does Albus Dumbledore. We believe that he awaits only a means of forging a new body for himself, and then he and his followers called Death Eaters will recommence their war on the wizarding world."

Clamlapper spoke up then.

"It is our belief that Professor Dumbledore plans on using you as a weapon to fight the Dark Lord when he returns to power."

"Then the sooner we get Harry out of his influence, the better it will be," I decided. It was, I also decided, just as well that they didn't know what I had planned for the boy.

Clamlapper nodded at my statement, and then motioned for Nutsack to read more from the Will.

yet before he could begin reading, we were once more interrupted. There was an urgent tapping on the door, and then a fairly young goblin came in. Clamlapper glared at the newcomer.

"Yes, what is it, Flickclit?" All three goblins scowled at me as I burst out laughing. I jokingly promised myself to have a discussion about goblin naming with them at some point in the future. Young Flickclit's next words, however, robbed me of any mirth.

"Honored one and guests, Albus Dumbledore has just stormed the lobby, and with him is the Minister of Magic, two reporters, and about five or six Aurors."

I sighed. I had no idea what Aurors were, but I was in no mood to deal with Owlpiss Dumped-on-cork right now. It looked like one way or the other, however, that I was going to meet him whether I wanted to or not. Physically, I was not worried that I could take him, but I was still so new to this form of magic, I knew I would stand no chance against a fully-trained wizard. Yet, it seemed as though I had no choice. Unless ...

The president must have noticed my smirk, because he shot me a curious look. At his puzzled expression, my smirk became a full-on smile.

"Harry, m'boy. It seems we've kicked over an ant hill today! What say we turn it into a hornet's nest?"

I had my doubts at exactly how much he understood about all of the whirlwind events of the day. I also am certain that he knew we were most likely in a spot of trouble, and, in his eyes, I had found a way out. I caught Ganelon's eye, and he smiled and nodded back, knowing I had a bit of a nasty streak on occasion. He was game for whatever mayhem I had planned.

Turning back to Clamlapper, Nutsack, and the young Flickclit, I announced in my most imperious voice, "It is time for us to take our leave of you."

They, of course, immediately claimed that there was no other way out without having to encounter Dumbledore and his friendly little posse.

"Never mind, my fine fellows," I told them in that same pompous voice. "Watch and learn: watch and learn."


	8. Escape from Gringotts

Seven: Escape From Gringotts

The goblins were still incredulous I could tell, but the time for talking had passed. I looked at Clamlapper, and I could tell that he too was nervous.

"Honored President," I said in a tone that I hoped conveyed urgency. Obviously, it did, because each of the goblins seemed to snap to attention. I was pleased.

"Before we depart, I have a few questions. They require only a yes or a no. Firstly, are there other things about the Will that we need to be aware of right now?"

"Yes," said Clamlapper.

"Are these things that we have to be in Gringotts to learn about?"

"No." Nutsack this time.

"Can anyone else access Harry's assets other than Harry and myself?"

"Yes." Nutsack again.

"Can this be prevented?"

"Yes, with his guardian or parent's signature," Clamlapper said. I nodded, pleased.

"Make it so," I said. My eyes flicked to Flickclit. "Can you stall them?"

The youngest of the goblins looked at his boss who shrugged, then nodded.

"We can stall them for a few moments only," the president said. "We can remind them that the goblin nation is separate from that of the Ministry of Magic. That may stall them for a few moments while they think up some justification for attempting to remove a magical person from within the walls of Gringotts. Even if we are able to stall them for a few moments, which is questionable at best, their arrogance will not let them turn aside from their mission. You must hurry if you really believe you can effect an escape."

I nodded. A few minutes is all I would need ... I hoped. With a last look at his boss, Flickclit left the room on his errand.

Even as the younger goblin went out, Nutsack was slapping a piece of parchment down in front of me. There was nothing on it, so, after coaxing a writing implement from the goblin, a quill like I hadn't seen in a couple hundred years save for in a museum, I quickly scrawled a note indicating that only Harry and myself had authority to remove funds or items from his vaults.. Inspiration struck, and I added a line saying that any funds that needed to be removed could be, as long as President Clamlapper or Account Manager Nutsack, of their own free wills, verified that the expenditure was necessary and for the welfare and betterment of Harry James Potter. I signed my alias that I use upon the shadow earth, Carl Corey. Let any nosy wizards try and figure that one out.

I passed the form down the table to Clamlapper, who held it out so Nutsack could read it too. I could tell when they finished, as Nutsack almost fell off his chair.

"HOLY SHIT" Nutsack ejaculated. "Are you certain you wish me to have this promotion, Mr. Corey?"

I nodded at the amazed goblin, but said nothing. From what little I had seen I knew that goblins generally looked down on the witches and wizards, but these two goblins had treated us with nothing less than respect. With this level of trust that we were showing for him and the fact that the little guy obviously seemed to think that this was a great step forward in his career, there would be little to no chance that he would turn on us.

He promised to do a great job and to build the Potter coffers up again. I told him I knew he would, as that would mean more money for him. And then, at last, it was time to put my plan in to action.

At my request and with the flick of a finger, the walls of the conference room were cleared of any obstacles that might have impeded us as we worked towards freedom. The unused chairs were stacked on top of the table; the small serving table with the tea service upon it vanished to who knew where. The two goblins moved as close to the table and as far from the walls as they could. After assuring the goblins that yes, I knew what I was about, and yes, it was perfectly safe to all involved, I told everyone to remain silent as I began to concentrate. Then, we began to move.

I am very sure that we looked very foolish, the three of us, Harry clutching my hand at my request, Ganelon following us with his hand on my shoulder, again at my request. That in itself was not the funny part; the funny part was that to an outsider, and probably to Harry as well, we looked like an oversized group of school children playing Follow The Leader. Around and around the walls of the conference room I led us, trying to block out the snickers coming from the observing goblins, and trying to hurry in an effort to avoid a confrontation with those who would see my charge (no, my son) returned to live in hell on earth.

It was on our sixth trip around the room that the first change was noticed. the first noticeable sign that something was different came as a gasp from the boy. After all, I'm sure that he never expected to see a tree branch suddenly sprouting from the wall.

Another circle of the room. This time, we were walking on soil part way around.

Another lap, A bird was heard singing a forlorn song.

Another pass. This time, the ceiling gained an opaque look to it.

I was vaguely aware of voices drawing nearer to us, but as we took another turn around the now almost unrecognizable conference room we had frequented for what seemed like forever, they seemed to be coming from down a long tunnel.

We made another circuit, and this time, a wind began to blow.

The conference room door was flung open and a loudly protesting Flickclit was flung forward in to the room. A shaft of sunlight fell upon us as we continued circling.

It did not matter now. It was good enough.

Even as I relate this story today, I can't help but chuckle when I remember the looks ranging from wide-eyed bewilderment on the face of a stout little fellow wearing a ridiculous pinstriped suit and a dorky bowler hat perched upon his fat head, to the stupefaction of the individuals in red robes who pushed in behind the first guy. And who could blame them? I have seen others of my family slip into shadow, and the best way to describe it was that a watcher would see the surroundings of the shadow jumper distort and ripple, as if dropping a stone in to a container of water. If the person going into shadow was far enough along with their manipulations of their surroundings, then they too would be part of this great rippling effect. I and my companions were, fortunately for us, far enough along.

Even as we completed the circle farthest from our uninvited guests, the wall parted before us and we stepped through in to a field of tall grass, dotted with the occasional tree, none of which were much taller than my head.

As though by some agreed upon signal, each of us simultaneously turned and looked back once more.

Our goblin hosts were grinning with amusement and delighted good cheer. It was not difficult to understand why they were amused either. Their good cheer came at the expense of an old dude in a purple dress. He had a rather bizarre pair of boots as well, short little things with low-cut Cuban-style heels, topped with shiny little lavender laces. The most normal things about the old geezer were a pair of the bluest eyes I had ever seen and an enormous white beard so long that he could nearly tuck it in to his belt.

At the moment, this ridiculous fellow had a scowl upon his face as he watched us, or more particularly, Harry as we disappeared from view. I believe in those last few seconds before the conference room of Gringotts faded away completely that I saw the old guy, who I took to be Albus Dumbledore, actually jumping up and down and wringing his hands in impotent rage. I even thought that I saw spittle fly from his mouth as he roared silently as we evaded him by some manner unknown to him and through some method which he would not be able to explain.

Then, we lost sight of our would-be prison as I made a last adjustment. After that, the three of us simply stood in the middle of this sun-baked expanse of grassy field staring around at each other.

I'm not sure who broke first, nor does it matter. Suffice it to say that it wasn't long before we were all three lying on the soft fragrant grass clutching our sides and howling with laughter. And oh did it feel good to laugh like that. Glancing over at the little boy who had unknowingly been the catalyst to my change of plans, I smiled widely and more openly than I had done in a long time. I decided then that yes, maybe, I would enjoy having Harry Potter around.


	9. Finally, a New Day

Eight: Finally, Another Day

AN: I forgot to say that Hary Potter and its world is owned by J.K. Rowling. What a dunts I am. A little crossover in this fic. Anyone with a guess?

It was a comfortable porch, to be sure. There was a rocking chair that might have been made at the beginning of creation, along with a few other less comfortable chairs that we had brought out from the kitchen. What really made it cozy and homely, however, was the view. For as far as the eye could see, the corn stretched out in all directions. It appeared that there had once been a dirt road snaking its way among the great ears, but time had allowed nature to once again claim what was its own.

I had decided to regain a shadow very near to that of the shadow earth for a while to give us time to make sense out of all that was going on. I did not want to get too far away from this time and place, nor did I want to lose the time flow just yet. There would be plenty of chances to play with time later, but there was still too much that needed to be decided first. Therefore, once we had escaped the goblin bank, it was but the matter of a short walk through the field and a little extra tweaking of shadow that had brought us to this place. I knew we would not be here long, but I thought it necessary to regain our wits. Also, I knew that Harry would need a little time to assimilate all that had happened. Of course, it was just the same for me. It was not every day that one goes about blood bonding a son. I had no idea how to be a parent, and the idea itself was rather unsettling.

I was broken from my contemplation by Ganelon coming back up the splintery porch steps to join me. He had been over examining what appeared to be a tire swing that still hung off to the side of the porch.

"Rotten as an old tomato," he said forlornly. "I was going to see if it was fit for Harry to get on. Speaking of Harry, where is the boy?"

"Inside. While you were fetching some corn for dinner, I drew up some water from the well for drinking. I also drew up some water for the kid to wash himself. It'll be a bit cold, but he'll have to deal with that."

I stood up from the rocker and moved over to inspect the corn Ganelon had dumped on the porch.

"Corwin?" Ganelon seemed a bit hesitant to go on.

I looked over at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Back when I was your general in Avalon, I always thought that you acted without due deliberation on many occasions. I don't mean to criticize, but have you given any thought to exactly how this boy will affect your plans for Amber?"

I studied him for a long moment before answering. I wondered if Ganelon knew that I often thought that he, too, was often too reckless, jumping in feet first with nary a thought to the consequences of his actions. But then again, this was a Ganelon who seemed to have changed quite a bit since his exile to Lorraine. Besides, I would need his help with what I had in mind.

Finally, "I'll tell you," I said. "But let's wait until Harry can rejoin us. My plans will be of concern to him as well."

He nodded, drawing out a cigarette and lighting up as he stared off in to the corn.

It was not much longer before Harry joined us, hair still wet and sticking up in all directions. By that time, I had managed to fire up the rusty grill I had found waiting for me under the porch. There were a few bricks of charcoal in the kitchen and now I had several ears of corn shucked and cooking away. Soon enough, our meal was finished, and we took seats on the porch, enjoying the warm breezes that blew through the corn. I knew that both Harry and Ganelon would want to talk, but first I decided it would be better to look through the rest of the papers the goblins had left with us. When I told them of my idea, both were in agreement.

The Will's contents were already known to us, but the account balance sheet came as something of a shock. I was not sure exactly what Galleons, Sickles and Knuts were, but I figured over 57 million Galleons were a lot in any culture. I was also impressed by the list of properties at our disposal. I told Harry that we would visit as many as we could and check them out to find his favorite. Personally, I was looking forward to returning to Italy for a while. Hopefully, the small, uninhabited island off of Greece would meet with everyone's approval for a visit as well.

Finally, there was a letter from his parents. I could tell by the look on his face that this shook him up quite a lot. I knew that he had nothing that belonged to his parents, so this did not really surprise me. Harry tried to read the letter, but as the sun had set and the moon was still waiting to make an appearance, he was having all sorts of trouble with it. I had noticed his glasses were missing from earlier, but until now had thought little of it. I agreed to read the letter for him, also promising that we would look in to fixing his eye sight as soon as we could. Actually, I was surprised he had not mentioned their absence before now.

Unsealing the letter, this is what I read to him:

**September 6, 1980**

**Dear Harry:**

**As I sit here with this piece of parchment in front of me, I find myself at a loss for what to write. The fact that if you are reading this then both Lily and I are dead just seems so impossible to comprehend. Sitting here at night and holding you, teaching you to walk, laughing as Padfoot trots around our living room with you clinging to his back, staring in to your mother's beautiful green eyes just like yours as she changes you and gets you ready to go to bed? All of this seems so perfect, that I can't imagine a time when I won't be around to watch you grow up.**

**Yet, if you are reading this, then the worst has, indeed, come to pass and your mother and I are dead.**

**Son, there are so many things I want to tell you that I hardly know where to begin. I guess the first thing is that if we have been killed, then chances are that we have been betrayed. You see, son, we are in hiding under a protection known as the Fidelius Charm. The Fidelius can be used to hide an object or people in a way so that there is only one person who can tell anyone the secret. Harry, we are under the charm right now with Sirius Black, your godfather and my brother in all but blood, as the Secret Keeper. This means that unless Sirius tells someone our exact address, no one will be able to find us. Voldemort, the one who is after us, could literally walk right by our living room window and not see a thing. Sirius, however, is uneasy and believes that he is too obvious of a choice. He thinks that we should use someone else as Secret Keeper with Sirius being the ****decoy.**

**We have decided to wait until one of our other friends, Peter Pettigrew, returns from what ever assignment he is on, and make him our Secret-Keeper if he will agree to do it.**

**We have another friend we considered using, but both Sirius and I are partly convinced that he is the spy in our midst.**

**By this point, Harry, you are probably asking yourself why the secrecy and suspicion? The headmaster of our former school, Albus Dumbledore, came to us with a prophecy a couple of months ago. I will not write down the exact wording here, but close enough it says that a child will be born at the end of the seventh month (July), who will possess the power to defeat Voldemort. This child would be born to parents who had defied Voldemort three times. It also said that the Dark Lord would mark this child as his equal, but the child would have power that was unknown to Voldemort. It also declared that one must die at the hand of the other, which both we and Dumbledore believe means that only he can kill the child and vise versa.**

**Your mother and I both defied old Voldie three times. So did one other couple, Frank and Alice Longbottom. Also, both couples had children born on July 31, 1980. Now as you may know by now, you were born that night, while Neville Longbottom was born earlier that afternoon. For these reasons, your mother and I believe that he will come after you first. We are prepared to do anything we can to save you, Harry, even at the cost of our own lives.**

**Harry, both your mother and I love you more than life itself, and if we must die to keep you safe, then we will gladly do so. Son, all that Lily and I ask is that you work hard to be the best wizard and man, not necessarily in that order, that you can be. There will be plenty of people to help you. You can trust anyone that has been mentioned in our Will. If, by some reason, you have not yet met everyone listed there, get Sirius or your current guardian to make the introductions.**

**Well, it sounds like you are waking up now, and I think I'll go give your mother a break. Once again, son, we give you all the love in the world.**

**James Potter**

**PS: Tell Remus we are sorry for doubting him.**

For a long moment after I finished reading the letter, the three of us sat there in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. I could not believe that someone would put such stock in a prophecy. Then, I supposed, this was a completely new experience for me, listening to someone predict the future. Yes, we had the family Tarot cards, but even that bit of foretelling was dodgy at best. It also meant that there was a good chance that this Sirius Black fellow was not guilty of the crimes he had been charged with. That would need looking in to. If this Sirius Black were indeed unjustly imprisoned, then it might just be advantageous to stage a jail break.

A sob broke me out of my thoughts, and I was not at all surprised to see that Harry was crying. They were more like barely controlled whimpers than full on sobs. So, deciding to be fatherly, I got out of my chair, knelt on the floor in front of the boy, and gently pulled him in to my arms. I didn't say much, as comforting small children was not something I was at all familiar with. I could almost feel Ganelon smirking as he sat watching us from his chair.

I must have held my new son for about five minutes, before the whimpering subsided. His breathing had evened out and was now the deep breathing of the exhausted. I could understand how he felt. Nodding at Ganelon, I picked the boy up and carried him inside to one of the small bedrooms which I had dusted as well as I could earlier. I laid him down on the bed and, pulling off his horrible excuse for shoes, covered him with one of the ratty blankets I had found. I watched him sleep for a moment, and I think I may have smiled a bit. Then, I turned and left him in search of Ganelon.

That gentleman had come inside and was busy making a pallet with a couple of the other blankets that had been lying around. We did not speak as I too prepared my bedding. Both of us were lying down before Ganelon broke the silence as I knew he would.

"Well, this is quite a pickle we've landed ourselves in."

I did not disagree with him. What could I say? Yet, even knowing the consequences that my actions would bring, I doubt I would have changed a thing. There was just something about this boy. Now, thinking back, I believe that I could feel the coiled power that resided inside him, and I think it called to me in some way.

Ganelon had been speaking while I was again musing on my feelings for the boy.

"I'm sorry, I was elsewhere for a minute. Please repeat that?" I asked him.

"I said that now that you have read the letter from his parents and know about this so-called prophecy, what are your plans?"

"Well, for now, it is impossible to say. I have it in mind to explain to the boy exactly what being my son means as far as his blood is concerned. I believe I will then leave him in your capable hands to get him healthy while I check on a few things back at Gringotts. I will probably have better luck going in alone in case there are people still searching for him. Before that, I plan on taking the two of you to a shadow that I know where time moves a lot faster than here. That will give you more time to get Harry in to shape. I want you to get him fattened up a bit, then I want you to get him started with physical exercises and basic weapons training. I think you would be perfect for the job. Will you do it? I know I ask a lot of you."

"Well, seeing as I have no where else pressing to be, and seeing as I like the kid okay enough, I will do as you ask. Besides, it has been a while since I have personally trained anyone, and certainly never one quite so young. But Corwin, don't forget you have rifles to be picked up as well. In fact, if your deal with Helm went as well as you said, then you will have to make a couple of stops to get your fire arms. And did you also tell me that you wanted to make sure that you were able to get the troops you believed you could?"

"Getting the troops will not be a problem. In fact, that will be the last thing I concentrate on before we move on Amber. But Ganelon, I have decided that getting Harry trained up first and then getting him to walk the Pattern are the highest priorities. This will do many things for him. It will teach him to know himself, which, I think you'll agree, is something he desperately needs after his treatment at the hands of those assholes he was living with. I also want him, if possible, to get a head start on learning his magic. I doubt that you and I would be much help to him in that respect, but I am hoping that while I visit Gringotts I am able to make contact with one of the people listed in James and Lily Potters' Will. As a last resort, I will take us to a different version of the shadow earth where magic is practiced, but I am hesitant to do so. I do not want to take the chance that Harry will run in to a shadow of himself. No, for now, I think the best plan is to scout out the possibilities at Gringotts.

We continued to chat and work on our plans for the next few minutes, then exhaustion finally set in. We slept then, and I dreamed of my return to Amber, a wizard with flashing green eyes by my side, and I dreamed how the armies of Amber would be awed and fearful of my protégé. It was well after dawn when I woke, refreshed and with hope for the future.


	10. Ten: Okay, Just Who Are you Now?

Ten; Just Who Are You Now?

The dust was kicking up nicely behind our horses as we rode through shadow later that day. Harry was mounted before me on Star while Ganelon trotted along beside us on Firedrake. It had not taken much walking to reclaim our horses from shadow. Normally, it would have been impossible for Firedrake to have been found through the shadow world, but I had instructed Star to stay close by him, so that the two would not be separated. The first part of the day had been getting Harry accustomed to riding a horse. It was rather amusing at first to watch his face as Star first began to walk and then to trot, then finally breaking in to a gallop. As amused as I was, I did my best to encourage the boy as he got used to riding. Luckily for him, Star was docile enough for me and those with me. I remembered learning to ride myself, and to say that Benedict's horse did not like me was like saying that the sun rose in the east. Finally, though, Harry seemed to be settling down and getting used to the jolting motion that was part of horseback riding. I knew he would be sore tomorrow and probably for the next couple of days, and told him so. He looked resigned, but said that he doubted it could be worse than living with his loving aunt and uncle.

We were working our way through shadow at the moment to find a world I had in mind where Ganelon would be able to start Harry's training. As we rode, I was randomly playing with shadows, content to take the time to reach our destination and at the same time amuse the boy by acquiescing to his requests for changes to the terrain. Finally, I put a stop to it after Harry requested that I walk the horses through a field of cotton candy.

"You will be able to do this yourself, Harry. Let's not spoil all the fun just now," I told him.

"But how?" Harry asked. "I'm nothing special. Yes, I may be able to do magic, but I would be willing to bet that most magic users can't alter their surroundings like this."

"Ah, but most of the magic users don't have the blood of Amber flowing in their veins, either."

He turned around to face me fully, showing that indeed he was getting used to riding. As he regarded me with those amazingly green eyes, I was struck by just how mature he looked. His gaze was certainly not that of a seven-year-old.

"Just what does that mean, exactly, having the blood of Amber in my veins? What does that mean to me?"

Well, the boy was certainly entitled to know something. I decided to limit what I told him for now. It wasn't that I was trying to keep information from him, but I decided that he needed to be eased into this new life in stages.

"The first thing you need to know is something that you've already experienced for yourself. We of the royal family of Amber, and yes, that now also includes you, have much greater strength than the ordinary man. My brother Random and I once lifted a car that was stuck in mud at the side of a road. It was a Mercedes if that gives you any indication of its size.

"Don't raise your eyes at me, young one"" I said reprovingly. "If you think back to how you swatted your uncle away yesterday when you barely touched him, it really shouldn't surprise you."

"That was way cool," he said, and I could not miss the way his eyes lit up with definite interest. I wondered if he would visit his relatives again one day to test out his strength. Personally, I was all for it.

"Also, and I think that you will like this a lot, your body will be able to regenerate if you are ever injured. A few years ago, I was imprisoned by my brother Eric in Amber. Before sending me to the dungeons, he caused my eyes to be burnt out with hot irons. As you can see, my eyes are as good as new at this time. It took some three and a half years for them to finish regrowing properly, but it happened in the end."

I didn't tell him, because I wasn't sure myself, but I had the suspicion that he would no longer need glasses in the not too distant future.

"Continuing on, you will also be able to walk (or ride, as the case may be) through shadow."

"Just what does that mean? I know you can change the things around us, but what else is it?"

"Well, for one thing, it is very hard to explain. I guess the best way to explain it is to say that shadows are whatever you can imagine. I mean that literally. Anything you can imagine, any world, any person, you can create it. All it takes is the will power. You must be able to imagine the exact circumstances that you wish for.

I could see his confusion as well as him wanting to ask a question.

"What is it, Harry?"

"Last year, the Dursleys brought home a video tape of a movie. It was called The Terminator. Are you saying that with shadows I could create the world in which Terminator actually was real?"

I nodded my head.

"That could be kind of scary," was his only reply.

He looked worried for a moment, but then his enthusiasm returned.

"Can you show me how to walk through shadow? Will it take long? Can I bring people with me? Is there a faster way to travel?"

"Woe, slow down buddy"" I said, grinning a little at his obvious excitement.

"Sorry, sir," he said, calming almost at once and looking a bit fearful to boot.

"Harry," I said, feeling a foreign emotion attempting to be interpreted in my chest. "You never have to be afraid to ask me a question. I may not always answer you right away, but you will never suffer abuse from me for curiosity. I'm going to answer your questions. Just be patient.

"I'm going to start with your last question first. Yes, there are faster ways for us to travel to certain shadows. They are called Trumps. Everyone in our family has one. I will try to get one for you, but the person who made the original Trumps is believed to be dead. I know that he is not, but it may be some time before I can get a chance to get Dworkin to make a Trump of you."

At his expectant look, I capitulated and brought out my deck of the family cards. Well, okay, so they had belonged to Benedict. However, I had judged after our duel on the Black Road that he had plenty of extra decks. It was only brotherly that he should loan me one after trying to separate my head from my shoulders. Harry held out his hand for the pack, but I shook my head.

"First, you need to understand that these are not just cards. These are means of contacting anyone in the family or anyone who has been drawn by Dworkin. There are rumors that Brand, Fiona and Bleys have also mastered the art of drawing them, but I have seen no proof as of now. I hope it is not so." I pointed out each of the ones I mentioned in turn. I proceeded to show him the rest of the family. I think he was most enamored with Deirdre. I couldn't blame him; so was I.

He again reached out his hands for the Trumps, but again I did not relinquish them. Instead, I shuffled through them myself looking for something. When I found it, I held out my own Trump to Harry. He took it gently, almost fearfully, as if something would jump out and bite him.

"This one and this one only do you get for now. If you ever need to contact me, you are to stare at it. Try to picture me as clearly as possible in your mind while you do so. Block out all other distractions. Think of it as a mental telephone. You have to be able to imagine me clearly in your mind in order to make contact. You'll know that you're successful because the image will start moving, and the picture on the card will then reflect whatever environment I happen to be in at the time. Guard this well."

"How do you travel with one," he wanted to know next. I ignored his question for the time and returned to our previous discussion. He most definitely didn't need to know that yet.

"As for walking through shadow, yes, I intend for you to learn to do that, and I will be teaching you when you are ready and the opportunity permits. Don't get your hopes up, though. It will be some time before you'll be ready. You will first have to walk the Pattern. Now, the Pattern is what gives a prince of Amber his powers over shadow. I don't really know how to describe the Pattern to you, so for now all you need to know is that it requires great strength of both body and mind to venture upon it.

"Let me answer your other question now. Yes, you can take people with you through shadow. As you can see, Ganelon is keeping up with us and having no problems doing so. You need to be careful, though. You don't want to be too near people that you don't want to take with you. All that they will have to do is to try and follow you, and if you are shifting, they will be able to as long as they keep relatively close. There are other things to know about shadow travel, but for now that is all you need to know."

We rode on in silence then, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Now, we rode through a quarry of old stones. Picking our way carefully around a turn to the right, treacherous stone became a fairly slick substance, almost like walking on marble. The horses did not enjoy that experience, I can tell you.

Luckily, I was able to disperse the marble quickly, and our way then led us over barren earth for a while. We passed through a brief rain shower, only to come out on the other side in the midst of a furious blizzard under a purple sky. Cursing for making the change too soon, I eventually got us out from that climate and into a cool autumn afternoon. The purple in the sky flashed to pink, then after a couple of miles, to a bright white.

Harry let out a yell as what was probably a pterodactyl flew overhead on huge, leathery wings. Around a wide, sweeping turn, and the smell of salt was in the air. No more enormous birds startled us, but the cry of gulls was heard as we moved rapidly towards the sea. We never reached it, however. Coming up over a slight incline, the smell of the ocean was replaced by a brusque wind blowing down from a lofty mountain range. We began to climb, the horses' hooves somewhat muted by the green dirt underfoot. After we climbed for a few hundred yards, however, the dirt began to show patches of greenery. Before long, it was completely grass upon which we were traveling, and the ascent leveled out into a gentle rise. The occasional tree began to be seen.

"We're nearly there," I told both of my companions. I think Harry would have liked the trip to continue forever, so enamored with moving through shadow was he.

"Where exactly are we going?" he wanted to know.

"One of the things about shadow that I should have mentioned earlier is that you can move to places where time flows differently. The place we are going is a long way from the shadow earth where we met. I tell you all of this so that I might make sense when I answer your question.

"Many years ago, I saved someone's life not too far from here. Actually, for me, it wasn't that long ago, since I was out of prison even. But here, it will have been probably twenty years at least. My plan is to have Ganelon begin your training here, along with the gentleman whose life I saved.

I looked at him with the most serious face I could muster. Given the circumstances, I think I succeeded pretty well.

"Harry, you will find that Steven and his ilk are a very tough and demanding group. One thing you will need to remember is that any discipline will be because they want you to learn, not because anything is wrong with you. At first, I believe you will work almost exclusively with Ganelon, working to get rid of any malnourishment. I think your new abilities will work towards this goal as well. He will also teach you weaponry as well as help you learn to focus your mind. I am not certain as to all that Lord Steven and his court will teach you, but I wish for you to give your all. And when you've done that, I want you to give even more. I want, in general, for you to be the best of the best."

I added that last part because Harry was looking more apprehensive the further along I went with my explanation. He did not speak for a few moments, simply watching the wooded road we were traveling upon. We were passing through farmland now, and the occasional whinny could be heard, along with the dulcet tones of well fed cattle and sheep. Not until we came in sight of the walls of the lower city did Harry speak again.

"Sir, we just met. Why are you dumping me off here?"

I bit back my initial pulse of anger at being questioned. After all, I reasoned, it was not an unfair one.

"First of all, I am not abandoning you here. I have every intention of returning as soon as I resolve a few things back in the wizarding world for you. After reading the letter your father left you, I have my suspicions of whether your godfather Sirius actually committed the crimes he was accused of. I intend to find out the truth of the matter one way or another. If he is, as I am beginning to suspect, not guilty, then I plan to free him from prison, by fair means or foul. I also plan on finding you magical tutors who will help train you with no questions asked. Hopefully, I will be able to kill two birds with one stone as far as your godfather is concerned. Once freed, I intend to use his gratitude at being free plus the concern he will no doubt have about his godson to make sure that he will train you to the best of his abilities."

"But you will come back for me?"

"Of course. I plan on finishing your training myself. After all, you will probably need my help to get yourself ready to walk the Pattern. and, be warned Harry, you will walk the Pattern when, and only when, I believe you are disciplined enough to handle it. If you are not ready and you walk it prematurely, if you stray from the Pattern or stop during the undertaking, you will more than likely die."

Hopefully, that promise along with the stern admonishments to be vigilant, would be enough. It would have to be.

We were hailed soon after by a guard at the gate. I had guessed it would happen, but I was surprised to see both Harry and Ganelon flinch at the first call.

"Halt, strangers! State your name and business at once!"

"I greet you," I called back. "I am Corwin, son of Oberon, and I seek an audience with your lord, Steven, son of Henry."

,the guard muttered to someone for a moment, then addressed me again.

"Your name is not unknown to us. Dismount your horses at the gate. They will be cared for. Cort will take you to the audience chamber."

We did as we were asked. I grinned a little as Harry clumsily dismounted Star, groaning a bit and rubbing his bottom immediately after. The guard, accompanied by a short, muscle-bound, bandy-legged, little man, watched in ill-disguised contempt, nodded with satisfaction once we were inside the gate, and gestured at the little man.

"This is Cort," the guard said. "He will lead you. Stay with him and do not wander. These are darkening times, and strangers are not now as welcome in the Inner Baronies as they once were."

"And you," Cort spoke sharply, leveling a glare at Harry. "Straighten up, maggot! You are very privileged to be setting foot in the last and greatest bastion of light left in this troubled world. You'll remember it, or I'll know the reason why!"

Harry, who had been slightly hunched over as he stared at his surroundings, straightened up as if he had been electrocuted. Cort glowered for another moment, grunted his apparent approval, then turned around and stalked away, motioning vaguely for us to follow.

,this we did, Harry staying close to my side, not daring to look down lest the stranger Cort should somehow notice and follow up on his threat. We walked for some time, climbing up long, loopy streets as we went. The air, which had been cool and fresh when we started out, seemed to become, if possible, even sweeter as we ascended. The streets were lit by gas lamps, and people passed us a few times on carts drawn by donkeys or, occasionally, a mule. We continued along in this fashion nearly to the topmost point in the city. By this time, the residents had become aware of our presence, and we were given many varied looks, some of curiosity, some of open hostility, and all with mistrust. I couldn't blame them. If things were indeed as dark as the guard at the gate and Cort had both indicated, then I was surprised we were admitted at all.

Eventually, we were led to the entrance of a low wooden building separated from the rest of the royal keep by a courtyard. Here, the little man called Cort bade us enter and await the lord's convenience. Then, he turned soundlessly and left us on our own.

Once Cort was gone, I leaned quickly down to Harry and spoke quietly.

"Harry, in the presence of Steven, let me do the talking. Speak only when spoken to unless given permission by him otherwise."

I did not get a chance to say anymore or to answer Harry's frightened look.

A man had emerged from inside the audience chamber, followed by three sullen young boys. Even though I had expected the changes, I was still somewhat taken aback by my friend's careworn features.

He stood slightly shorter than I, maybe six feet. He wore patched and faded jeans, a coarse home-spun shirt rolled up at the sleeves, and well-worn boots. The most prominent feature, however, were the butts of a pair of revolvers, worn low and crisscrossed at the belt, each within easy reach at any given time. I knew from past experiences that his draw was faster than a streak of lightning. His features still radiated the strength that had impressed me so much on our first meeting, but I noticed slight rings around his amazingly deep blue eyes.

At sight of me, his stern demeanor was replaced first by flickering surprise, then suspicion, and, after about a quarter of a second, pleased recognition.

"Corwin, son of Oberon," he greeted in his rich baritone voice. "It does my heart good to see you after all these years. I am sorry you had to see me now. Unfortunately, you caught me in the midst of disciplining a couple of young scamps (he pointed at the boys following him, each appearing about Harry's age). Let me introduce you to young Masters Alain Johns, Cuthbert Allgood, and my own scamp, Roland Deschain."

I reciprocated and introduced Ganelon and my son, drawing a pleased flush from the boy as I introduced him for the first time in that manner.

,Steven Deschain spared a nod for Ganelon, studied Harry for a brief moment with absent-minded curiosity, then turned back to me.

"Come, let us have words in the audience chamber. These puppies will take your lad to the kitchens for a bite." He looked at his son sternly.

"Tell Hax that he is to feed you all, full rations. He is also to have dinner for three sent to us here."

"Yes, sire," young Roland said quietly. He smiled slightly at Harry as he said it. "Come on, Harry, you will love the kitchens. We actually have an electric stove there."

After a moment's indecision, Harry smiled back and, after looking to me for approval, followed the other boys up toward the main part of the keep.

,Steven waited for the boys to get nearly out of earshot before calling after them. "Roland? Cuthbert? Alain?"

,when the three boys looked back, Steven's stern persona was well in place.

"You boys are not escaping punishment. It is only postponed." Their faces fell. "Mind your manners with your new guest, and it won't be any worse for you."

,the one called Cuthbert widened his eyes dramatically then gave a completely exaggerated bow, planting his booted heel and bending so far over that he was threatening to call forward on his face.

"Yes, oh great one," he said in his childish little voice, solemnity dripping from every word. Then, he really did fall over. The other boys, Harry included, snickered.

"Enough, whelps," Steven's voice boomed out, displeasure evident. "Run along. Now!"

Lip twitching in barely suppressed amusement, Steven Deschain, lord of Gilead, greatest of the Inner Baronies of New Canaan, gestured grandly for us to follow him into the waiting chamber.


	11. 11: Train Well, My Son

11 Train Well, Little One

The receiving chamber of Gilead gave off a feeling of agelessness. Perhaps it had stood for fifty years, perhaps a thousand. It was a simple enough room, low wooden benches leading down an aisle to a raised dais upon which sat an ancient-looking carved chair. Although the design reminded one of a courtroom, or perhaps a throne room, there was some indefinable quality about the whole thing that gave off a feeling of trust and fellowship.

Steven, Ganelon and I made small talk as we sat on one of the benches that gave a breathtaking view of the setting sun. Watching it, I could understand just why the lord of the land enjoyed meeting in this building.

After about half an hour, two serving lads entered carrying a wooden table between them. They shortly returned baring great covered dishes, pitchers, cups, and cutlery. Once they were gone, our host was not long in inviting us to sup. We enjoyed a great meal of steaks, slightly burnt on the outside, rich and juicy on the inside. There was grilled corn and mixed greens to go along with it, as well as thickly sliced bread. To cap off what was one of the best meals I had enjoyed in quite some time, there was a thick, wheat beer, wonderfully chilled and foamy.

Once dinner was finished and our appreciation of the beer well expressed, Steven's demeanor became serious once more.

"Corwin, it really has been great to catch up with you. It is not often these days that I get the chance to simply relax with dinner and an old friend. These are difficult times." He let out a long breath.

"Now what can I do for you, for I doubt that you stopped in after all this time just for a social visit?"

"You are right, of course," I said. "I need your help in training the boy. Through circumstances which I will not go in to now, he is my son, and I wish him to be trained in the ways of the warrior. I want him trained in the ways of the sword, body, mind, and gun. I would guess that your boy and his friends are starting their training to be gunslingers already?"

He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded. I was sure he had many questions about my earlier statement about how Harry was my son through circumstances.

"At this time, you ask much of me, old friend," he finally said. There was no smile on his face now, and I could not recall the last time I had seen someone so careworn. "Things are not well in the Baronies, these days."

"How so," I asked.

He glanced around nervously as if to make sure that no one was listening in at the open windows. Then, he motioned me to lean closer. On his other side, Ganelon moved in also.

"It started a couple of hundred years ago, as you know, in the land of Delain. No one really knows why, for sure. Some believe that the king of the land got greedy, and kept demanding more and more tribute from his subjects. It is believed that the revolt started there, when the head of Peter of Delain was removed by one of his trusted advisers and put on a pike just outside of Delain's court.

"Regardless of what happened there, it was like a slow moving wave. Slowly, since the fall of Delain's last king, other kingdoms are suffering similar fates. it starts as general unrest and eventually results in the death of those in charge."

Another deep breath.

"The pace has begun accelerating over the past few years. Right now, the Inner Baronies still hold strong. Yet, I fear before Roland's world is many years older strife and dissent will find its way even into New Canaan and perhaps to noble Gilead herself. Our court magician, Marten Broadcloak, believes that he can work some spells to hold back the darkness for a while, but even he is doubtful for how long this will work.

"And," he added even softer. "I'm not sure that Marten himself is immune from the tide of anarchy and bloodshed that is running rampant through IN World." When he next spoke, I had to strain to hear him.

"Some say the Dark Tower is on the verge of falling, and that is the root of all of our trouble."

Before I could ask him just what the hell the Dark Tower was, he straightened up and resumed his former posture. It was obvious that that particular subject was closed. He looked at me steadily then, gauging my reaction to what he had told me. Finally, he continued.

"I have not forgotten what I owe to you, Corwin. It is partially out of concern for your welfare and that of yours that I tell you so much. You need to think carefully about whether you are sure you want your boy going through the training with Roland, Alain, Cuthbert, and the rest of the other boys. My own training was rough enough, but with things as I have described them to you, we have told Cort to hold nothing back in their discipline and training."

"The plan is for me to start with Harry's conditioning and training," Ganelon said, inserting himself into the conversation for the first time. "You probably saw that he was not in any shape for any kind of physical schooling at this time. I intend to get him ready for training with plenty of nutritional food and light exercises. I also think that seeing the training that your lads are undertaking will encourage him to catch up quickly out of pride and a desire to please his father."

Steven smiled grimly.

"And just what qualifications do you have to decide what is appropriate training, Master Ganelon? I think that perhaps we will determine that for ourselves upon the morrow. Yes, I think it would be fitting for you to face Cort in the morning to demonstrate your ability to teach."

Steven Deschain looked quickly at me before turning his attention to my companion.

"Should you best Cort, then I would indeed welcome you to stay here and train the boy until he is ready to work with Cort. Depending upon your skills, I might even ask you to lend a hand in certain aspects of the other boys' education. Should you fail, however, then you all must depart from here as soon as possible. I am only giving you this chance because I owe it to Corwin. And by the way, Corwin, where will you be if Harry is trained here?"

"I have errands that I must run elsewhere, places where Harry is not yet ready to go." It was an answer that said absolutely nothing, but the gunslinger in front of me accepted it at face value, as I knew he would.

Finally, he spoke again. "Very well. If Cort is defeated tomorrow, then you shall have training and lodgings with us as long as you need it, or until circumstances decree otherwise. Be advised, that you are permitted one weapon of your choice upon the morrow. Cort will use the same weapon he has always used, the staff."

He rose then, indicating that the meeting was over.

"A good evening to you both. Someone will be by presently to show you to your sleeping quarters. We shall meet again in the morning."

I looked across our host at Ganelon. I was more than a little angry by Steven's decision and I'm sure my displeasure showed on my face. Ganelon, on the other hand, was as cool and calm as if Steven had invited him to throw darts instead. He caught my eye and winked, an expression I'm sure our companion also noticed. Not much escaped that man's attention. It was one of the things that had impressed me most about him, his attention to detail.

Finally, I looked back at Steven and gave the only answer I could.

"Tell Cort to get all the rest he can tonight." I think my response pleased the gunslinger.

&-&-&-&-

The yard that faced the hall of the Gunslingers was not really a yard at all. It was more like a corridor lined with trees, leafy arches foremost on either end of the walk. Spectators were permitted only beyond these arches, for the interior was designed exclusively for the use of the combatants. Traditionally, this area was the place set aside for the tests that passed a boy from childhood to manhood. Only those who defeated their teacher in a fair fight were permitted to complete their apprenticeships and go on to become gunslingers. Many others failed to complete this step, usually ending up broken and bleeding. These were sent from the west gate, the gate they had entered from as boys. They were never again to be given the test, never again allowed to attempt to claim the guns that had been their birthrights. These were exiled from Gilead, never again to be welcomed in the houses of their parents.

Apparently, word of the impending battle had been leaked out to the occupants of the castle. The east side was thronged with people of all ages in preparation for the show to come. Grim-faced gunslingers with Steven among them, and some of them escorting their women, wide-eyed prentices, those who had passed their trials and now trained to become full fledged gunslingers, and the younger boys, bursting with excitement at the thought of seeing their teacher battle, all were there. I had been permitted to take my seat near that of my friend, and sat with the others waiting for the show to begin. I had decided that if Ganelon failed to pass this test, it would be prudent of us to move on at once; therefore, I had Star and Firedrake saddled and ready to go as soon as the event was over.

Harry did not sit with me. Steven had insisted, rightfully so I judged, that Harry should sit with the other boys in training. After all, if Ganelon won here, Harry would eventually be included with them in their lessons. As I looked over the crowd, I could see him sitting next to the Johns boy. The two appeared to be talking softly together, and I could only guess that Alain Johns was telling Harry about the traditional use of the lawn in front of us. This idea was enforced by the mixture of curiosity and awe that kept switching back and forth on my son's face. I had spoken with Harry earlier on, just after we breakfasted, and I knew that he was both excited and nervous about the fight to come. He had also told me that he was somewhat frightened by the descriptions of the training that the other boys were undergoing which had been told to him by his new acquaintances. I could not tell if he was rooting for Ganelon to win or lose, however. I'm sure he thought that if Ganelon lost, then I would be forced to take him with me back to deal with his affairs in the wizarding world. Of course, what he didn't yet understand was that there were plenty of other shadows where I could go to get him trained up. This one, or so I believed, had the best chance of making him in to the best overall warrior and person that he could be.

The talking died down as Ganelon exited the main keep and strode confidently towards the western end of the yard. He wore only a light weight shirt that he had acquired from somewhere, khaki pants, and a pair of black boots that, I guessed, he had again borrowed. Even as he stepped through the earthy arch, Cort appeared from the other end of the corridor. He wore attire nearly identical to that of my friend's, and carried in his hand a finely crafted ironwood stick. One end, I saw, was sharp and jagged , while the other was fat and blunt, the better for bludgeoning. Both men drew to a stop just inside the arena, sizing each other up and deciding upon opening moves.

It was then that Steven stood up. Any murmuring that had been going on stopped as if a plug had been pulled. Complete silence reigned. Finally, the lord of Gilead spoke.

"Fellow Gunslingers, noble women, young ones, all heed my words. A battle is to be fought here today. Cort, our great teacher, is shortly to meet in battle one Ganelon, traveling companion of my friend Corwin, son of Oberon. For those who are unaware, Corwin once saved my life many years ago. At that time, I promised him the granting of a favor should he ever need it. Now, he comes before us claiming his favor. He requests that we allow his son, Harry, to join in the training which we afford to our own kababbies.

"I have made the defeat of Cort by Ganelon the price for said training. If Ganelon defeats Cort, then he will stay here with young Harry and assist in his training, and perhaps that of the rest of our youngsters."

He stopped there and pointed at Cort.

"Cort, son of Fardo, what weapon do you choose to wield in your noble endeavor?"

The man looked up, scowling. "I choose the stick, as you know well, Lord."

"Even so," Steven replied, lips twitching just the slightest. He then looked at Ganelon.

"And you Ganelon, son of Jethro? What weapon will you choose to wield in your noble endeavor?"

Ganelon reached down to his side and raised a plain wooden stick in a jaunty salute. "This, Lord."

"Very well," Steven drew in breath. "Let the battle begin."

He then sat down.

Not much happened at first. The two warriors stepped forward in slow, measured steps, continuing to size each other up. Ganelon held his stick steadily, while Cort tossed his nonchalantly from hand to hand. Upon neither countenance was there to be seen the slightest sign of fear or worry.

The yard was not overly large, perhaps fifty yards long. In what appeared to be the exact center of it, a line had been drawn in the dirt. Upon either side of the line is where the two finally came to a stop.

"It is not often that I have had the pleasure of taking on one surely in the prime of manhood," Cort said just loud enough to be heard in the silence that still held. "Let us see if you remember the face of your father, maggot."

"Well, that sounds like no fun at all," Ganelon replied, a slight sneer of contempt making its way to his mouth. "Besides, for all I know, you and I have the same father. I'd ask my mother, but I really can't remember what her face looks like either."

I think Cort was surprised by this rejoinder, but Ganelon did not give him time to retort. His stick dove down in a graceful arc towards the top of Cort's head. The other man moved to block the blow, then returned with a sweeping down stroke towards Ganelon's crotch. That worthy gentleman danced nimbly out of the way, then returned with a vicious backhanded swipe that was also blocked. No more words were exchanged. Instead, the pair began circling, exchanging stupendous blows that I knew would do some serious damage if they connected. All that could be heard were the grunts of the two as they continued to exert themselves. I was frankly surprised. I had actually expected Ganelon to take the match very soon. I think that perhaps Ganelon was also surprised. Cort had a fierce demeanor, but I had not expected him to be able to keep up strength-wise with Ganelon. Obviously, I had been wrong. I only hoped that my friend was not going to be bested by this little man.

For over forty minutes, it continued. The stamina of both was astounding. Staffs continued to slam together as each man sought for dominance in their dance of destruction. Then, the unexpected and unwelcome happened.

Cort had aimed a short jab at Ganelon's upper torso, which the latter moved to block. However, Cort then drew back, feinted towards Ganelon's head, and swung in a slicing arc towards his unprotected knees. Somehow, and I don't think I will ever know how, Ganelon was able to get his stick down in time to block the blow that surely would have pulverized at least one of his knee caps. The stick he was carrying, however, wasn't as fortunate as its barer. It did succeed in blocking the crippling blow, but when the two weapons came together, it was Ganelon's weapon that broke asunder. He was left holding a short little piece of wood, while the rest was sent spinning off to the side, well out of reach. Cort grunted happily and swung his stick once more, aiming for my friend's unprotected neck. The slow smirk that had begun to blossom on his face was wiped away as Ganelon reached out with amazing reflexes and caught the stick, using Cort's own momentum to yank it from his grip and sending it flying in to the distance. At the same time, his right hand shot forward and delivered a chop right to the little man's bulging gut. I think it was at that time that Ganelon and I both grew to respect Cort a bit more. The blow connected, and I think it would have perhaps ruptured a lesser man's innards or crushed his sternum in the least. Cort only grunted and wheezed slightly, showing that the pot of his belly was as solid as iron.

Ganelon's surprise cost him. Seeing the slight opening as Ganelon paused to regroup was all the chance that Cort needed. His left arm shot forward and delivered its own blow to Ganelon's stomach. Ganelon staggered from the blow, and his stumble led him right in to the path of Cort's right cross. Ganelon flew backward and landed with an audible grunt as air was forced from his lungs upon impact.

Cort gave him no time to recover. Foregoing the search for his dropped weapon, he rushed forward and fell upon Ganelon, hands outstretched, reaching for the throat of his opponent. I had no doubts that the fight was over, then. Therefore, I was not the only one who gasped when Ganelon brought up his knees and launched his feet upward, connecting with Cort's descending chest. Cort was propelled backward and hit the ground hard. He was up fairly quickly, but Ganelon was faster. Cort had barely straightened when there was a flat CRACK, and Cort's head rocked to the side with the force of the blow. He staggered slightly, and was just in the correct spot for the toe of Ganelon's boot to connect in a roundhouse kick to Cort's temple. He sagged. Ganelon wasn't finished, however. He rushed in to close quarters, blocking Cort's feeble counterattack with one hand and delivering a crushing right fisted hammer blow to the other side of Cort's skull. Once, twice, three times he connected, each accompanied by a groan from the crowd. Then, he stepped back.

Cort lay unmoving upon the greenery of the grassy area. I was able to see that his chest still rose and fell, and I was glad that he was still alive. I was shocked at his skill, and I also wondered how in the name of the Unicorn any mere teenager was ever able to best him. Yes, I found myself glad that Cort would be involved in the teaching of my boy.

"Friends," Steven Deschain's voice rose to a shout. "Ganelon, son of Jethro is the winner."

A thunderous applause broke out amongst the spectators. I was surprised when I looked over to where the boys sat. Harry was applauding, but only half-heartedly. He looked excited, but also apprehensive. I thought I knew why, and I decided to speak to him about it before I took my leave. I was also surprised to see the look of loathing that was settled on Cuthbert's face as he stared at Cort's inert form, now being carried off the field by a couple of gunslinger prentices. I shrugged. Whatever the boy's dislike of Cort, it was not my problem.

I felt a firm hand on my shoulder and looked around to see Steven Deschain studying me carefully.

"Your man is a good fighter. I hope that he will consent to working with the babbies along with Cort."

"That will be up to him."

"I have a feeling that there is more to young Harry than you are letting on, my friend."

"If so, it will be up to him to tell you if he so wishes."

"As long as neither he nor Ganelon tend harm to Gilead and its citizens, there is no problem," Steven said, and I noticed that his hand was on the butt of one of the sandalwood revolvers that hung by his side.

I looked steadily in to his eyes though and did not flinch. "You will have no problems with them," was all I said.

He looked at me for another moment as if searching for something, then abruptly nodded.

"All is well, then."

&-&-&-&-

Star welcomed me as I strolled up to the magnificent horse. Harry and Ganelon were with me. Ganelon was there to give Firedrake a rub down since he would no longer be needed for riding duty right away. He limped slightly, and there was a bandage on his right hand. Apparently, not just Cort's belly was banded steel.

"You will be okay here," I asked him.

"Yes. Nothing has changed since yesterday, except the bruising on my body," he said, attempting a week joke.

"Very good, then."

I looked at Harry.

"Harry, give the trump I gave you to Ganelon."

Hesitantly, almost rebelliously, the little boy reached in his pocket and fished out the tarot card. He thrust it at Ganelon who took it, also with a questioning look on his face.

"Harry, you will have this as a reward once you have mastered the mental disciplines that Ganelon will show you. I will be looking forward to talking with you."

Ganelon and I exchanged a few more words before he took his leave, heading off to tend to Firedrake.

Once Harry and I were left alone, I squatted down to put myself at Harry's eye level.

"It's going to be tough here, little one, but I know you'll do fine."

His bottom lip was trembling, and I had the feeling he was on the verge of tears.

"Last night, Alain and the others were telling me what their training was like," Harry finally said. "They told me how any mis-step they made or anytime they failed to live up to expectations, Cort smacks them around. I don't want to be smacked around anymore. I got enough of that from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia and Dudley."

I put a hand on his shoulder to offer what comfort I could.

"Harry, I know how it sounds. But there is a very big difference between the Dursleys and Cort and Steven. The Dursleys beat you because they were afraid of you and could care less what happened to you. Here, there is every likelihood that you will be hit again. However, it is to correct you and to help make you in to the warrior that you will need to be in order to avenge your parents as well as to get you ready for walking the Pattern and navigating shadows. Cort will hit you, yes, but it is because he knows that you will be capable of what he asks of you. This is a very high honor you are being accorded, even if it doesn't seem like it right now. According to what Steven told me after the fight earlier, you will be the first not born in Gilead who will be allowed to undertake the gunslinger training."

Seeing that he was still not convinced, I decided to say one more thing on the subject.

"Harry, if you complete this training and then the training that I intend to give you, I seriously think that you will surpass me as a warrior, no mean feat I assure you."

Harry nodded, and while the fear was not completely gone from him, I could see that he now stood a little straighter, his face set with determination. I felt my heart glow with pride for a moment.

"Learn well, Harry. Make me proud, son."

That comment earned me a huge smile, as I had known it would.

"And, don't forget. Once you have sufficiently learned meditation and the mind disciplines of a true warrior which Ganelon will teach you, you'll be able to speak to me whenever you wish."

"Yes, sir," he said, and his voice was now firm with resolve. I leaned even farther forward then and brushed my lips over his scar.

"Take care, my son. I will not say farewell, only so long. And when we meet again, perhaps I will have more people for you to meet. More wizards, even."

I left my son then, one little boy standing alone in a strange land except for Ganelon, a fellow he had known only for a couple of days.

I mounted Star and kicked him in to a gallop, riding hard through the city of Gilead, trying to outdistance the strange feeling of sorrow that kept pace with me as I rode. Once, I thought I felt eyes on the back of my neck, and turning my head, saw the shortest glimpse of a man wearing a cloak of forest green. I felt that there was something familiar about him, but when I glanced back again, he was gone. Thus, I saw for the first time, the bastard known as Marten Broadcloak.

Soon, I was far from Gilead, far from the shadow of the gunslingers, headed back towards the shadow earth, and back to try and possibly free an innocent man from prison.

A/N: Thanks for the amazing number of reviews for the last chapter. I think I counted zero. Once I get a reviewer who can tell me what crossover this portion of the story involves, I will write the disclaimer for it.


	12. Corwin, Meet DumpedonCork

11: Corwin, Meet Dumped-on-Cork

"Honestly, Dumbledore, how hard could it be for you to keep track of the boy? You did say that you had a Monitoring Charm on him. Now, you claim that your instruments can't find him at all?"

Those were the words that greeted me as I entered Gringotts the same way I had left it some time before. I had entered the same conference room where we had made our escape from, and from the sound of things, very little time had passed. this pleased me greatly for it indicated that the shadow where I had left Harry and Ganelon was indeed greatly accelerated in time and would facilitate the boy's ability to train greatly.

I had entered in the corner farthest from the door and, surprisingly, unnoticed by all. The old man in the ridiculous dress, Dumbledore, sat facing the little guy I had glimpsed during our break out. The fool still had on that silly-looking bowler cap as he sat facing Dumbledore. Standing behind him and blocking Dumbledore's view of me were two of the men in red robes, Aurors I believe they were called. President Clamlapper still sat at one end of the table, but I noticed Nutsack was no where to be seen.

"Cornelius, I am as baffled as you are by Harry Potter's disappearance. I think it best that we adjourn to the Ministry and see what we can do from there. After all, perhaps there is some magic from Gringotts blocking my tracker."

The man Cornelius removed the stupid hat from his head and wiped his sweaty brow.

"The wizarding world will panic if their savior can't be found, Dumbledore. My ratings will suffer greatly. No, this won't do at all, not at all. I think we will get a few Aurors involved in the search as well, discretely, of course. PERHAPS Lucius will be able to make some inquiries as well. Some of his associates might be willing to help in the search also. After all, he is a very influential man and I'm sure he would not want the Boy-Who-Lived misplaced."

"I don't think that involving Lucius Malfoy in retrieving young Mr. Potter will help, minister," Dumbledore replied, and there was a bit of a sharp edge in his voice.

"And you, goblin," the minister said, swinging around to face the head of the table. "You were here when Potter was taken. Tell me about the people who kidnapped the Boy-Who-Lived."

"As I told you before, Minister Fudge," Clamlapper said, and I could easily note the underlying contempt in his gravelly voice. "Mr. Potter left Gringotts Bank in the company of his guardian. Also, per his guardian's request, any information on the whereabouts, financial status, or any other information on Mr. Potter is not to be disclosed to anyone, no matter how much authority they claim. And, concerning the Potter accounts, not even you can overturn that decision."

Cornelius Fudge leaned towards the goblin, and I was disgusted to see spittle flying from his lips in little streamers as he practically screamed at the goblin president.

"I could have you executed for your disrespect, goblin," he practically shrieked. "I am the Minister of Magic, and I demand you tell me where Harry Potter is."

"Even if I had the faintest clue where the young lad was I would not tell you, Minister." Clamlapper was glowering at the minister now.

"Come, Cornelius. LET us go back to your office. I think the Wizengamot can deal with the goblin lack of cooperation later." The look he threw at the president was anything but friendly.

I decided that now might be a good time to intervene. There was no need for things to get even more precarious for the goblin nation. If the wrinkly old bastard with the twinkling eyes in front of me had problems with my blood adoption of Harry, I would know why. I myself had come to terms with having a son, and I had decided that I would protect him until he was old and able enough to protect himself. By taking him to Gilead, I was also doing my best to make sure he could take care of himself. If I had my way, by the time that he returned to the shadow earth, he would be more than capable of putting this manipulative fucker in his place.

"Perhaps there will be no need to search for him any further," was my opening salvo into the conversation.

If circumstances hadn't been so tense, I believe I would greatly have cherished the way that everyone in the room jerked around as if simultaneously shot. The look of amazement was even on the face of Clamlapper. I chuckled as I gave the little guy a slight bow.

"I thought you might have missed my company already, Mr. President," said I.

He, too, gave a bit of a laugh after that remark.

"It most certainly has not been dull since meeting you, Mr. Corey," the president replied with a gracious tilt of his head. "I would, however, be very interested to know how you got in here, howeve."

"Trade secret," said I.

Clamlapper snorted a bit at that and dropped the subject. However, I could see obvious relief in his eyes as he stared at me.

Any further pleasantries were interrupted by the old man inserting himself into the conversation. He had recovered remarkably fast from his surprise, and that same untrustworthy twinkle was present yet again.

"Excuse me, sir," he said addressing me with nothing but warmth and sincerity in his voice. "I don't know how you got in here, but you are interrupting a private meeting, and I must therefore ask you to leave the room at once."

I was pleased that he had not recognized me from the brief glimpse he must have caught of us as we escaped earlier.

"Well, sir," I replied, doing nothing to lose the contempt I felt for this man from my voice. "You see, this conversation does concern me as you are talking about my son."

,this time, I certainly relished the shock I saw in the old man's face. I imagine that shocking him twice in less than a minute was something that had rarely happened before, if ever.

I decided not to give him a chance to speak again before continuing my onslaught. "If I had brought him with me, I would introduce you to Harry James Potter Corey. Seeing as he is not here, please allow me to convey his compliments to his former jailer, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore."

If I was hoping for another shock, which, of course, I was, I was doomed to disappointment.

"Mr. Corey," the old man said, and I was pleased to see that the damnable twinkle was dimmed for the moment. "I don't know what you think you have done, but as Mr. Potter's guardian, I can assure you that any so-called adoption will not stand. He needs to be with his relatives as there is ancient magic at their house that I have invoked that will keep him safe from any wizard wishing him harm. As long as he can call the Dursleys' house the place where he lives, he will be protected.."

I pretended to ponder his words for a moment, then gave it up as a lost cause.

"And who," I asked with false politeness, "keeps him safe from his charming relatives?"

"I assure you, Mr. Corey, his relatives give him all the nourishment and care he could possibly want."

"You willing to swear by your magic on that bullshit, old man?"

A look of pure, unadulterated fury appeared on his face then. However, it was gone so quickly that for the moment I was unsure I had actually seen it.

"Here now," the fat little minister said, finally getting over his shock at the whole affair. "I don't know who you are, but you are interfering in ministry business. Tell us where the boy is now so we can retrieve him, or suffer the consequences. I don't know if it has escaped your notice, but even with your little conspirator here (again, a nasty look was shot at the goblin), you are outnumbered and facing the greatest wizard alive and the Minister of Magic, not to mention his personal bodyguards."

"I'm not very impressed so far, Mr. Packer," I addressed Fudge. "Besides, there is no need for violence since the adoption has been recognized by Gringotts. And anyway, shouldn't the wishes of James and Lily Potter be taken into consideration?"

Fudge was certainly nowhere near Dumbledore's league when it came to controlling his temper. Of course, I am sure he was not very appreciative of the nickname I had given him. Actually, I was not sure he'd ever heard of Fudge Packer before which would make the insult lose some meaning, at least to him.

,

"Enough!"

I'd have to give Dumbledore credit. He could sure shout with the best of them.

"Mr. Corey, or whoever you are, I reiterate, Mr. Potter already has a guardian, and you will return him to me to place him where he will be the safest. I give you one more chance to produce him now. I'm not sure how you were able to remove him from Gringotts before right under my nose, but the party stops right here. Either agree to take me to him or bring him here at once. Otherwise, you will face our justice system.

"Don't even think of trying to fight your way out of here," he continued, having noticed my hand stray to the hilt of Greyswandir. "Without boasting, I think I can safely say that you stand no chance against me in a fight."

He smiled at me then, and it was not a pleasant smile.

"If it sets your mind at ease, Mr. Corey, you may rest assured that James and Lily would have wanted him in the safest place possible."

I'd finally had enough of his delusional ranting, if that was what it was.

"Look here, you crazy old coot," I cut across whatever drivel he was currently spouting. Fudge gasped, the Aurors gaped, and Clamlapper snickered. "If you knew anything about his home life at all, you'd have taken him from that hellhole a long time ago. Did you know his bedroom was a cupboard underneath a flight of stairs? Did you know that he was the Dursleys' punching bag from the time you foolishly dropped him off there? Did you know they fed him just enough to keep him alive, certainly not enough food for a growing boy. Was it your goal to see if you could get his relatives to kill him for you?"

I could see that I was getting through to Fudge at least. Maybe there was some hope yet. Deciding to go for broke, I continued.

"Did it ever occur to you, Dumbledore, that someone else might see the Will of Lily and James Potter?"

Dumbledore lost the color in his face and, it seemed, his ability to speak. I took the opportunity to remove said Will from my pocket and sailed it across the room to the minister. I had little hope that he could actually do anything, but I was determined to try all fair means before I resorted to foul to resolve Harry's situation and the mystery of Sirius Black. I would have even been willing to let the fool peruse the letter from James Potter detailing his suspicions, but I had foolishly forgotten to get it back from Harry before taking my leave. Or, perhaps, it was not so foolish as I would come to learn.

Almost appearing to be a robot, Fudge plucked the Will out of the air. Then, seemingly against his better judgment, he looked down at the paper and began to read. The polite disgust slowly began to fade as he read on, his complexion paling even further. I was pleased to se incredulity give way to bewilderment which in turn gave way to anger.

He looked up finally at Dumbledore and opened his mouth to blast him I was sure, when one of the strangest things I'd ever seen happened. Now, as I've said before, I'd seen some weird things in my countless years both in my beloved Amber and also in my long excursions through shadow. I had never seen anyone's face and body language go from anger to puzzlement to suspicion and back to anger so quickly. Surprised myself, I looked over at the old man who stood there calmly, hands in his pockets, one arm twitching slightly. He had turned to face Fudge, no doubt to watch his reaction and to hear better what the minister had to say. That was not what surprised me, though. What really flabbergasted me were the next words out of the minister's mouth.

"Clearly, Corey, this is some sort of forgery. James and Lily Potter would never stand for a murderer like Sirius Black as Harry's legal guardian. And Lupin? He's a bloody werewolf! Frank and Alice? Well, that would have been okay, but … No, that wouldn't work either. Davis? They're delusional! They're bloody Slytherins. No way can the Boy-Who-Lived be brought up by Slytherins! No, Albus is right. He must be returned to Albus's care. Bring him back here now, Corey, or it's straight to Azkaban with you."

He stamped his foot to attempt to make himself look more determined after that last statement. At the same time, I could not miss the brief flicker of triumph and contentment flash through the old man's eyes. Feeling my own anger mounting dangerously near the edge of my control, I decided one more attempt at conversation would be made before I took action. Clearly, they had never dealt with a prince of Amber before, so their ignorance was to be forgiven.

Turning to my only ally in the room, I asked the president "Master Clamlapper, you can attest to the authenticity of this document, can you not?"

He gave me a pained look, and I knew the news would be bad before he opened his mouth.

"Yes, Carl Corey, I can authenticate its validity. However, I can only interfere when it comes to monetary matters. When it comes to the care of a wizard, there is little I can do." I could tell that this news did not sit well with him, yet I did not say anymore or attempt to argue with him. After all, I had the feeling that the goblin genuinely liked my charge and would help him if he could.

"Fudge," I said, turning back to the idiot with the bowler hat. "President Clamlapper just said that this is a valid document. You have no right to attempt to subject my son to any more abuse despite what this idiot "here, I gestured to the still smiling Dumbledore) tells you."

Dumbledore didn't respond to my attempt to goad him. He just stood there smiling, hands in the pockets of his ridiculous looking robes, one hand twitching as if a slight palsy were infecting it.

"What I know is that Harry Potter is under the care of Albus Dumbledore, and you will either return him now or suffer the consequences and he will be found, in spite of you. This is your last warning. No, forget it. I'm tired of wasting my time with an ignorant fool such as you. Clearly, you don't know how we operate here in Britain. Yes, that must be it. You must be a foreigner. That is the only thing that can excuse your ignorance. Well, no matter. Bring us the boy, now!"

That was the last straw for me. Obviously, reason was beyond any of the morons in front of me. Only Clamlapper, I believe, would have helped me, and he had already told me that there was nothing he could do. Oh well, I had been spoiling for a good fight for a while. Now seemed just as good a time as any.

As Greyswandir leapt to my hand, I saw red, literally. Then, the world was gone with decisive finality.

&-&-&-&-

Consciousness returned to me slowly. I ached all over and my throat was parched. I had no idea how long I had been out and, looking around, I had no idea even where I was. It was a small, non-descript room with only one exit and no windows. I attempted to rise and test the strength of the door, sure that it would be no problem to kick through it and bring it crashing down. Two things I noticed before I could do more than begin to stand. Firstly, I was bound with thin metallic cords. They seemed quite light, but even as I tugged on them, I noticed that they would be nigh on impossible to break. The second thing was that Greyswandir was gone. Cursing, I lay back and waited to see what would happen.

How long I waited, I do not know. It might have been ten minutes. It might have been an hour. Eventually, though, my forced patience was rewarded when the door to the room opened soundlessly and the old coot himself, Albus Dumbledore swept in, his garish robes swirling about him. Once the door closed behind me, he simply stood there watching me. The silence stretched between us for what seemed like an age before he finally spoke.

"Well?"

"Well, what," I retorted, knowing full well what he wanted to know.

"Where is Harry Potter so that I may return him to his true relatives?"

That twinkle was going full force again, so I decided to see what I could do to send it vacationing again.

"Well, sir," I said, pasting on the most sincere smile I could muster for the bastard. "I'm not sure. I can tell you, however, that if he were up your ass you'd know it."

I saw confusion blossom on his face, and I had to wonder to myself just how out of touch with reality the old buzzard really was not to get the insult. Finally, "Mr. Corey, I don't think you know just how miserable I can make your life, my boy. Now, why don't you save yourself a lot of trouble and tell me where I can find Mr. Potter? I promise if you tell me, we can forget this unfortunate little kidnap attempt on your part. Now, tell me what I need to know."

I allowed my expression to turn to one of defeat. Then, I even forced a sigh.

"Yes, sir. I'll tell you what you need to know," I said, and sorrow and sadness were in my voice.

He leaned forward eagerly, that damn twinkle slowly starting to return from its latest nap.

"Yes, my boy?"

"What you need to know, sir, is that I would have been your father. Unfortunately, the neighbor's dog beat me up the stairs and got to your mother before I could."

It was childish to taunt my captor, I knew, but the way he recoiled as if slapped was worth just about any torture this wrinkly old skunk testicle could dream up.

Rage contorted the normally calm face. A stick of wood appeared in his hand almost faster than I could follow. His wand, I thought, that's his wand.

"Very well, you misplaced eel," he spat. "If you won't tell me, I'll find out the hard way."

I missed whatever else he might have said because brother, let me tell you, I started to laugh my ass off. A misplaced eel? A misplaced fucking eel? Is that the best that the old geezer could come up with? The anger on his face grew, and as it did so, I laughed harder. I really couldn't help it. His attempted insult followed by his impotent rage as I laughed made the whole situation funnier. In fact, I was laughing so hard that I almost missed the snarled word "Legilimens!"

I can tell you that I stopped laughing pretty quick after that. I felt an enormous pressure building at the base of my skull. It felt like tiny needles probing my brain, attempting to gain access to my innermost thoughts. Well, there was no way I was going to stand for that. Part of training to walk the Pattern consisted of learning one's own mind inside and out to protect from any foreign invasions that might be attempted whilst walking the Pattern as well as to be able to control the Trumps. In short, mind skills were some of the first skills I learned under Dworkin's and my father's tutelage. This man was powerful, I could tell, but I had been taught by the best.

Still, it was surprisingly difficult to gather my mental defenses and push the invading presence out of my mind. By the time our battle of wills was over, my head was clamoring for relief and I desperately wanted a nap. Dumbledore didn't look much better. Sweat was beaded on his face and he was breathing in deep, whooping gulps. Through his labored breathing, I caught him mumbling "should have expected this … Only one thing left to do … Cornelius already approved it … I don't care if it's approved or not."

Finally, once he had gotten his breathing somewhat back to normal, he glowered down at me again.

"I don't know how you learned Occlumency, Carl Corey, but no one can deny Albus Dumbledore for long. I know just the thing for you. Cornelius already suggested the perfect vacation spot for you. I'm sure after your return from your new home, you'll be much more open to telling me what I want to know."

I had a sneaking suspicion of what that meant, but before I could ponder on those ominous words, there was another flash of red light, and for the second time, my senses fled me.

The next time I woke, I was in hell.

&-&-&-&-

A/N: Good job, Stroth, on guessing the crossover. It was, indeed, from the Dark Tower universe by Stephen King. The first crossover I mentioned was from The Stand, another fabulous world created by Stephen King and referred to also in the Dark Tower series. Also, as the title indicates, a good portion of this story arc will take place in both universes. While this part of the story is keeping track of Corwin, there will be other parts where Harry becomes the central character and yes, he will go to Hogwarts … eventually. He has a few things to accomplish first.


	13. I'm in Hell

12. I'm In Hell

The first thing I noticed as I again swam out of unconsciousness was the cold. The second thing I noticed was the feeling of despair and hopelessness that seemed to permeate the air around me. It took a few extra minutes of reacquainting my senses with the waking world to notice the next bit of input. I was no longer bound, and yet I was not free either. While the binders had been removed, they had been replaced by gray stone walls that were, unfortunately, all too familiar to me. I was in a prison cell, somewhere I had hoped never again to become familiar with after my stint in the dungeons of Amber.

Unlike in Amber, I still had my eyes for all the good it did me. I may as well have still been blind for all the good they did me in this cell. I could make out the walls and barred door, but that was it.

Gingerly, I heaved myself to my feet and made to start pacing the cell, wondering just how I would get myself out of this jam. There would be no Dworkin to miraculously appear and draw me an escape Trump.

Trumps! That was it, the answer to my escape. I reached into the pocket of my jeans, hardly daring to hope. Sure enough, though, the cards were still there. I felt a grin starting as I pictured the enraged visage of the old man as he tried to figure out how I had eluded him this time. Just as quickly, my grin faded away with the next realization. In order to use the Trumps, I would need light and, wouldn't you know it, that was one thing that I was missing. Cursing under my breath, I slammed my fist into the wall. All I accomplished was giving myself one mother of a sore hand. Turning around, I began stalking the pitiful distance to the other wall. What I was not expecting was for my foot to come in contact with something soft; something that moved and cursed right after I had kicked it.

"Hello," I called out, wondering why in the worlds the old man would have thrown me into an occupied cell.

"Merlin's wrinkly ball bag! Can't a fellow get a little sleep around here," my unseen companion growled. Then, "wait a minute. What are you doing in my cell, and who the hell are you anyway?"

Well, I thought, in for a penny, in for a pound.

"Corey's the name. Carl Corey. And who, may I ask, are you?"

There was a derisive laugh from my still unseen cell mate.

"Well, mate. I suppose you could call me a number of things. Mass Murderer comes to mind. Traitor comes to mind. Or I suppose you could just skip all the name calling and stick with Sirius, Sirius Black."

A mirthless chuckle escaped my own lips.

"Well, that sure narrows my search down, doesn't it. I never actually thought the old coot would want me anywhere near you, though. I suppose he thinks it doesn't matter though."

"What're you rambling about," my still unseen companion broke in to my little monologue.

"You know, you might want to try being a little more civil, especially as its your fault I'm in here to begin with."

That, at least, got his attention if the sudden intake of breath was anything to go by.

"Perhaps you'd like to explain then rather than muttering nonsense," he asked with obvious impatience.

As much as I thought it would be fun to continue yanking his chain, I figured it would be better to go ahead and answer him. It appeared we were going to be in close quarters for quite some time, and it would not be advantageous to let my annoyance with Black boil over. I doubted whether Harry would forgive me for strangling the man, especially as it appeared he might actually not be guilty of any crime other than trusting in Albus Dumbledore and a corrupt ministry.

"I was attempting to find out more about you for Harry's sake."

This time, there was no doubt that he was interested. There was a long pause, then, "what does Harry have to do with this? Isn't he safely tucked away in the little hell house that Dumbledore wanted him at?"

The bitterness in his voice when he said Dumbledore's name pleased me, and I felt a slight kinship with the man in the cell with me. At least now we had one thing in common. Realizing that Black was waiting for an answer, and none too patiently if the clearing of his throat was anything to go by, I began my tale.

It took some time, and not a little forced patience on my part, but I eventually gave Black a brief rundown on the events since I had gone to Little Whinging what now seemed like a long time ago. I told him about how I had unknowingly adopted by blood the little boy that had so fascinated me. He was pleased on hearing of how we had gone to Gringotts, and we even managed to share a short laugh when I told him of how hilarious I found it that all the goblins seemed to be possessed of lude names.

"Did you know the former Black accountant was named Furbox," he asked me, and again we chuckled.

I went on to tell him about the treachery of Prickgrip. I told him about the Will of the Potters, this time earning another healthy diatribe against the old man. I explained how we had escaped from Gringotts when Dumbledore and his little posse had attempted a hostile return of Harry to Privet Drive. I don't know if he completely understood my reference to escaping through shadows, but before he could ask, I told him I'd explain later.

"I told him everything else, from Harry's training to the confrontation with Dumbledore and Fudge upon my return to Gringotts. Upon a whim, I even told him about my attempt to escape upon awakening in this cold dark hell. Of course, this involved a description of the Trumps I had as well as their purpose. I think Black was skeptical, not that I could blame him. My whole story must have seemed completely unbelievable to the man.

When I finished and we had both damned the Dursleys a few more times, Black told me in his croaky voice how he wound up here. According to him, James Potter had been insistent on the change in Secret Keeper, stating that it was far too obvious that Sirius would be chosen as Secret Keeper for the Potters. He said that he, Sirius, had wanted to make Remus Lupin the new Secret Keeper, in spite of knowing of his lycanthropic affliction. James though, had been adamant that they use Peter Pettigrew. He claimed that Peter would be the best choice as no one would suspect a slightly above average wizard would be given such a monumental task. Finally, after several long arguments, Sirius had capitulated and agreed to transfer the secret to Pettigrew once he returned from what errand Dumbledore had sent him on.

Black went on to say that he had hoped, deep down of course, that Pettigrew had lost what nerve he had and simply abandoned England. Apparently, this was not to be, however. On October 22, Pettigrew had shown up at the Potters just as they were sitting down for an evening meal. He greeted them all enthusiastically and told them how glad he was to be back from his mission for Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix. They had an enjoyable meal together, all of the friends, including Lupin, Lily and, of course, baby Harry. All of them took turns holding him and there was much laughter as Harry was passed around. It did not occur to Sirius that this would be the last time he would ever see all of his friends together, alive.

After dinner, they had waited for Remus to leave. This he finally did around ten in the evening. After that, James explained his plan to Peter and asked for his help. The weakest of the friends asked a few questions and finally, reluctantly it seemed, agreed.

They wasted no time in making the switch. Before midnight, Sirius Black left the Potters' home, no longer baring the secret of their existence upon his shoulders.

Time passed, a weeks worth in fact. Sirius began to relax, thinking that perhaps he had just been overly paranoid. He had been to see James, Lily and his godson Harry several times, and they all seemed to be in good health every visit he made. On one visit, he even ran in to his old headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, dropping in for a visit and doing what he could to encourage the Potters in keeping up their spirits while they were in hiding.

The next part of Black's story went quickly. He said that he had gone to their little cottage on Halloween night, but not before stopping by to check on his friend Peter. He told how Peter's home had been vacant with no sign of a struggle. As he had previously made arrangements to meet Pettigrew, he was worried and his suspicion began to grow once more. He wasted no time, but made his way to the Potters as quickly as he could. There, his worst fears were realized.

He told how he had found the little abode in flames. His breath began hitching slightly as he told of arriving just in time to see the top floor of the house give way and come crashing down with a massive explosion. He told of the utter devastation he felt upon seeing the house falling to ruin around him, and of his fury upon realizing that only one thing could have caused this, and only one person could have been responsible for betraying the Potters' location.

He went on to tell of the wariness and then joy he'd felt upon seeing the Hogwarts gamekeeper and his long time friend, Rubeus Hagrid, racing around the side of the house with a squirming little boy in his arms. His voice roughened even more as he relayed how Hagrid had told him of finding the bodies of Lily and James, both obviously dead courtesy of the Killing Curse. Hagrid said something else about finding some singed and torn black robes in the wreckage of little Harry's nursery, but by then Sirius had begun to be overtaken by a wild, uncontrollable rage. The rat was responsible for selling out those whom Sirius considered his family. The rat would have to pay, and pay dearly. Harry could stay with Frank and Alice while Sirius hunted down Pettigrew.

Black went on to tell me that he had attempted to get Harry from Hagrid as he was now Harry's rightful guardian. He told how Hagrid had demurred, stating that he had orders from Albus Dumbledore to remove Harry to a safe place. Black admitted that had he been thinking properly, it would have occurred to him to wonder exactly how Dumbledore had known of the attack on the Potters so soon, and how Hagrid had gotten there so soon after it had happened. Unfortunately for him, his rage was still clouding his vision. He told me how he had given Hagrid the keys to his flying motorcycle (something I decided would be the height of coolness to have for myself one day) before setting off to hunt down Pettigrew.

It had taken Black very little time to find the man. A few Point Me spells later and he was well on his way. It took him about three hours to get visual sighting on the cowardly little man, but he finally acquired him making his way as stealthily as a wizard unfamiliar with the muggle world could, through the crowded downtown streets of London. Still, Sirius held off on the confrontation. Enough of his sense had returned to him by then to realize that killing the coward at first sight would be worse than foolish. Therefore, he continued to follow him for several hours, changing his disguise often so as to not spook his prey too soon. Finally, the chance came as the little man turned down in to a narrow alley. Once he was certain that there were no spectators in the immediate area, Black had finally made his presence known to Pettigrew. That wretch of a man had shrieked like a little girl at the sight of a large rat, ironic since a rat was exactly what he was. Apparently, the surroundings were not quite as deserted as Black had hoped, and this was what had allowed Pettigrew to enact the next piece of deviltry.

Pettigrew had continued backing down the alley, hoping probably to make it to the far end of the narrow roadway and make a break for it. However, several curious onlookers had been attracted by his cry, and a small crowd of people now crowded the mouth of the alley behind him. With a relentless Sirius Black closing in on one side and a gaggle of curious muggles on the other, the rat man was trapped. Black said how he noticed Pettigrew looking around desperately for any means to escape. Much to his chagrin, he said the only thing he noticed was a sewer grate set in to the stones of the road. Its significance did not dawn on the hunter until it was far too late.

The next events happened in a few seconds. Pettigrew had looked back at Sirius, and there was real fear in his face, and also something more. When he opened his mouth to speak again, he shouted seven words that still tormented Black to this day. "LILY AND JAMES! SIRIUS, HOW COULD YOU?" Before Black could do more than gape with astonishment, the rat man had flashed him a triumphant grin, and that was when Sirius had seen the wand clutched in his pudgy hand. Desperately, Black began to raise his own wand, knowing he would never be in time to prevent Pettigrew from casting a spell. Luckily for Black, the spell was not cast at him. Unluckily for Black, the spell was not cast at him. Instead, it had been directed at a spot in the road behind Pettigrew.

It had been a powerful Blasting Curse. Black explained that it had pulverized a large portion of the street, and then, unfortunately, had hit a gas line. The fact that Black had been casting a protective shield as Pettigrew had wrought his destruction was the only thing that saved him from the resultant explosion. The amazed onlookers were not so lucky.

Shrapnel and flames licked out in all directions. Several deadly shards of concrete lanced through several of the onlookers before they had even a hope of moving to protect themselves. Others were set alight, and their agonized screams rent the early London morning as they danced about like fiery puppets. The air was permeated with the smell of cooking flesh from these flaming scarecrows, and the sound of their agony was another memory that clung to Black to this day.

Through the smoke and screams of the dying and the roar of the flames as they continued to rampage, three things happened that finally brought the seriousness of his situation to the would-be avenger. Even before the gas line ruptured, he caught a glimpse of the sewer grate being forcibly moved part way aside, leaving a small gap between it and the surface of the street. The second thing he saw just as the first whomping explosion occurred from the igniting gas was a severed finger fall in to the street. The last thing was the tail of a plump little rat, dripping blood from a new wound on one of its paws, disappearing in to the newly opened sewer.

"You see," Black clarified when I asked him what a rat had to do with the whole thing. "the three of us: James, Peter and myself, we all became Animagi, wizards who can turn in to particular animals, to keep our other friend Remus Lupin company during the full moon. Remus, you see, was a werewolf, and we thought that keeping him company in animal form might help to tame the feral wolf within him. Oh, it worked, too. Also, it allowed us great freedom to roam around the Forbidden Forest around Hogwarts and have great fun with our furry friend on the nights of full moons."

The rest of the story was quick and brutal. After realizing that the little rat had so effortlessly fooled him and framed him to boot, the stress of the situation along with the horrors he had endured and the grief he felt over the loss of his brother in all but blood had finally gotten to Sirius Black. He did what anyone would have probably done. He laughed. And then, he laughed some more. He continued laughing, unable to stop. He laughed so hard that tears were rolling down his face.

He was still laughing hard when the first Aurors appeared on the scene. Even then, knowing that he was only damning himself, he continued laughing. He would not stop laughing until the first stunner hit him and sent him to oblivion.

"When I woke up, I was right here in sunny ole Azkaban. At first, I was hopeful. After all, I would have a trial and would be able to tell my side of the story. If they didn't believe me, as one of the heads of an ancient and noble house, I would still be able to demand Veritaserum."

At seeing my uncomprehending look, he explained that Veritaserum was a Truth Potion. Three drops, so he said, would force anyone to answer questions with complete truthfulness until the antidote was administered.

He went on to explain that he had waited for several days before realizing that he was not to be given a trial. Eventually, puzzlement gave way to anger and then to rage. Fueling most of his anger was the thought that Albus Dumbledore, a man he had looked up to and respected since he had started Hogwarts, knew at least of his innocence as far as being the Potters' Secret Keeper went. After all, had he not been there visiting them after the switch to Pettigrew? Therefore, Pettigrew would have had to have told him the secret. Also, Dumbledore was the head of the Wizengamot, the wizarding justice system in Britain, and he could easily order a trial for Sirius. Even with these shocking realizations, this rage was somewhat muted by his fully realized grief and the guilt he felt over his perceived part in the deaths of his best friend and his best friend's wife. Coupled with the uncertainty of what had become of his beloved godson and the endless torment inflicted by the guards of Azkaban, he thought he had probably come very close to losing his sanity in those first weeks.

"And here I am, almost seven years later. And now, here you are, both guests of those bastards at the ministry, and all thanks to Dumbledore. I had my doubts at the beginning of your tale, but the more I think on matters now, coupled with Hagrid's refusal to let me take Harry and my lack of a trial, the more I realize that the old bastard was probably working on his own agenda for Harry long before the Potters were killed. I would have been in the way."

We had been talking for some time, and even as Black began to let loose with some extremely vile and lude vocabulary describing exactly where Dumbledore's phoenix probably resided most of the time, I saw a bit of light filtering in to the sell. It was not that much of an improvement, but compared with the nearly pitch dark before, it was quite a change, and certainly one for the better. It also afforded me my first view of the man in the cell with me.

Sirius Black was little more than a skeleton. He had probably been a handsome man at one time, but almost all traces of the man he had once been were gone. His black hair hung down in greasy streamers nearly to his waist. Dirt and grime were as much a part of him as was his hair. The haunted expression on his face as he took me in was one I didn't think I would ever forget.

I did not waste time on pity for the skeletal man in front of me. Instead, I resolved that with this new bit of light, I would again try the Trumps. The lighting was far from perfect, but I thought it might be good enough for my purposes. Hardly had I reached for my pocket and the cards that resided within, when my plans were halted by a blast of cold air. Now, I think I mentioned earlier that it was already devilishly cold in our little cell, yet my shivering had long ago stopped. Now, however, a new cold began making its way in to my bones, but this cold was different. It was not the cold of nature's air, but a gnawing feeling of despair accompanied this drastic decrease in temperature. Also, with the infringing cold, the light that had become visible just moments before was snuffed out suddenly and completely.

"Dementors," my companion half croaked, half whispered. "Meet the guards of Azkaban."

I turned almost against my will to face the barred door of our cell. I could not see beyond it, yet as the cold continued to increase, if that were possible, I thought I could make out the approach of three or four patches of darkness that eclipsed the darkness that had been our companion up to this point. It even sounded like rattling breaths were emerging from these portions of darkness.

As they continued to draw nearer and nearer to us, I could feel foreign presences battering at my mind seeking something. As I stated earlier, I had some of the best mind training that was possible which extended to the ability to protect myself from foreign presences. I believe that, given one or two of the deadly mind attackers, I would have been able to throw off their probes. However, against the group that approached the cell, my defenses crumpled within moments. When that happened, I finally understood what true terror was. I think it was then that I uttered the first scream.

It would not be the last.

&-&-&-&-

When my senses returned to me, it was thanks to a trembling hand on my shoulder shaking me. I was uncertain as to how much time had passed. I felt nauseated and sick as the last moments of consciousness came back to me in flashes: my brother Eric leering down at me as he raised to hilt of his sword before bringing it down on my head … bloated, swollen bodies lining the streets of Paris as I tried to escape from the city during the Great Plague … swerving off the road in my car and in to the lake as one of my tires was shot out … glowing hot irons moving slowly yet inexorably towards my eyes whilst my brother Julian watched … two dozen other images just as bad.

"Corey, Corey, wake up. They're gone for now."

A hand groped around for a moment, then I felt my head lifted and a bit of water was poured on my face, some of which made its way in to my mouth. It helped a little.

Eventually, I was able to gather my wits and faculties enough to sit up and drink a little more on my own. Black then presented me with a bowl of some nameless gruel, telling me that he had already eaten his. When I asked him if he knew what it was, he admitted that he did not, nor did he want to know. Finally, I could hold it in no longer.

"What the hell was that?"

"Dementors. The demon guards of Azkaban. You might have heard a rattling sound and noticed the temperature dropping before you, urm, took a nap. Of course you noticed. Well, the dementors feat on negative emotions. When they walk, or glide as the case may be, past the cells, they inhale, thus the rattling breaths. It brings up a person's worst memories and makes you relive them. Most prisoners don't last a year in here. I've only lasted so long because of my Animagus form. For some reason, my dog form doesn't get affected the same way by the dementors. I don't think they know how to sense animal emotions, luckily for me.

"Yes, lucky you," I mumbled, and I was only half joking.

&-&-&-&-

Time continued to pass, just how much time I do not know. The nights were the best, for it was then that the devils that guarded us would leave us to our own devices and darkness. During the days, however, they would pass by multiple times, rattling breaths and screams of near delirium, some of which were my own, the only signs to mark their passing. I tried, with limited success, to fortify my mind against their deadly probes between their visits. At this, I was marginally successful. I did not again have a fainting spell like on the first day, yet by the time they would leave our area of the prison, I would be drained nearly to the point of exhaustion.

I tried several times to use my Trumps to effect an escape, but each time the darkness thwarted my efforts. Once, I determined to tempt luck and had my Trumps out when I judged that the few minutes of dawn would be approaching. I had no idea whose card I was staring at, but I determined that anything, even the thought of Eric's merciful care, was better than staying herein this purgatory. It almost worked, too. I think I saw the beginning of movement on what I believe was Random's card, when the dementors foiled my efforts with their first appearance of the day, gliding around and offering up their initial dose of daily good cheer. That was the closest I ever got.

Still, time continued to pass. Sirius Black and I had time to talk between the visits of the guards. He asked me to tell him about Amber and my relatives, which I did. In turn, he told me about attending Hogwarts and his friendships with James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Lily Evans. Strangely, the name of Peter Pettigrew never came up in his tales. He told me about how the four of them (himself, Potter, Lupin, and the other one) formed a group that they called the marauders, and the main goal of the Marauders was to cause havoc and play pranks on the majority of the school, especially the Slytherins. We debated several times, often heatedly, about whether being cunning and willing to use any means to achieve one's goals automatically made one evil. Sadly, we never quite came to an agreement.

One night, Sirius was detailing how the Marauders had made a batch of brownies that had been served in the Hogwarts Great Hall take on the smell of another substance the same color, when I felt the first contact. I hurriedly hushed my companion and waited. Sure enough, the attempted contact was repeated. My heart gave a jolt as I opened my mind to receive the contact. Never before had I been so aware of the difference in time in the shadow worlds. And, I can also say, I had never been more glad of it.

Harry Potter Corey, my son, had mastered his mind powers at last.


	14. Is It Any Better?

14 Does it Get Better?

Eagerly, I awaited contact with Harry. It seemed to take an inordinate amount of time for the contact to be completed. I was not surprised by this, however. After all, it was his first time contacting anyone by this means, and it did not help matters that my surroundings were in pitch dark. I could not help but wondering exactly how much time had passed in Gilead. Would I even recognize the boy when I again saw him? Would he resent me for leaving him with virtual strangers in a strange land?

Finally, I felt that contact had been sufficiently established that I could venture speaking.

"Yes?"

The smile that I could feel on my face was slapped away by the voice that replied, however.

"While I can't see much of your surroundings, brother, I can see enough to be astounded to find you in another jail cell. Do you so desperately miss the confines of your cell back here in Amber?"

I felt my insides boil. Even the sound of my brother's voice was enough to ignite my hatred for the man who had left me to die all those centuries ago on the shadow earth, and then later cause me to be blinded. I could only see his vague outline in the murky darkness, but it was enough to assure me that he was smiling.

"Perhaps you'd like to come through and experience it for yourself, brother? Let me assure you that the hospitality here is much better than that in Amber. Why the guards even send in dancing girls each night to play strip poker."

"Corey, are you alright," Sirius said from somewhere off to my side. "Even in the magical world, talking to yourself is frowned upon."

I ignored him, for the moment. I needed all of my attention to deal with my brother. I had no idea what had prompted this little friendly call, as the last time we had met via Trump I had rather soundly defeated him in a battle of wills.

"Well, I see you've still got your eyes, although a fat lot of good that is doing you now."

"Yes, these jailers haven't seen fit to burn out the ole lamps this time."

"I don't suppose you'd like a hand out of your little predicament, would you?"

My eyes narrowed at that. After all, we had been mortal enemies for more years than I could remember, and I was supposed to believe that he was willing to help me out of the goodness of his heart? I thought not.

"And what, brother, do you expect in return for your assistance? Or perhaps you plan to do a prisoner transfer back to Amber's cozy dungeons?"

Now, it was his eyes that were narrowed at that remark, and I could almost taste his barely restrained contempt when he shot back, "that's a brilliant idea, brother. Perhaps another time I would take you up on that, and drink myself silly afterward to celebrate your plight."

He controlled himself after that, and that smile that was his trademark reappeared.

"As amusing as it would be to do something like that, I only want words with you." Here he seemed to brace himself as if his next words caused him physical pain. "I give you my word that no matter the results of our conversation, you will be free to leave the city afterward should you so choose."

I knew what it must have cost him to make that statement. No matter what I may have felt for the man, I knew that Eric did not give his word unless he truly meant it. Even so, I did not automatically jump at the chance provided me. After all, how would I explain the presence of Sirius? I couldn't just leave him here after all. If he were to be believed, and I had no doubt to the contrary, Dumbledore would return at some point in the future to again try and extract Harry's location from me. Of course, he'd have to let me out in order to actually attempt to retrieve the boy, but I was no longer quite as certain at evading Dumbledore as I had once been. So, if I left now, Sirius would no doubt pay the price if I left him here. He had taken great pains to explain the Dementor's Kiss to me, and I had no doubts that Dumbledore might employee that most fiendish of deeds should he suspect that Black might at some point escape. No, there was really only one option, and that was to accept Eric's proposal and hope that keeping his word still meant as much to him as it once did.

"You have yourself a deal," I told my brother. His expression didn't change in the slightest, and he wordlessly held out his hand.

I turned my head slightly towards the silhouette in the cell with me. I was sure that he was watching me as if all my faculties had chosen that time to dessert me. "Come over here. We're leaving."

He may have thought that I had taken leave of my senses, but the potential chance at freedom offered to him was far too tempting. I heard shuffling off to my side before I felt a hand whack me upside the head. After a muttered apology, the hand returned, this time landing on my shoulder. I heard a shocked gasp from my side, and the slight widening of Eric's eyes indicated that the two men had seen each other. Only then did I extend my own hand and clasp my brother's arm, stepping forward once I had done so.

The light of Eric's personal study was not overly bright. Nevertheless, so long had I been in nearly impenetrable darkness that for a moment I was totally blind once again. Finally, after what seemed like an age, the explosion in front of my face died down and I was able to take stock of my situation. As I had surmised, we were indeed in Eric's personal study. It was a warm inviting room with several bookshelves on the walls. There were a couple of plush armchairs and a full bar also decorated one wall.

I was given little time to continue examining my surroundings as my attention was caught by a thud. Turning my head slightly, I saw that the shock had been too much for my companion. He had fainted.

Eric quickly withdrew his hand and then reached for a bell on the corner of his desk. Not a moment later, a servant entered and bowed.

"Take that man to the infirmary right away," Eric ordered. The servant nodded and disappeared. He returned with two more men momentarily and together they lifted the still inert form of Sirius and carried him out. Once they were gone, my brother again turned to me.

We examined each other wordlessly again. Up close and with good lighting, I could see that he was not quite as carefree as he had looked from the prison cell. Dark circles seemed prominent on his handsome face. Worry lines were clearly etched on his normally smiling mouth.

Finally, "go and refresh yourself, brother," he said. "Dinner will be fairly soon. We will have a surprisingly full table tonight. I trust you can still remember the way to your old rooms?"

I wordlessly nodded, stood for another moment trying to think of something to say, then shrugged and left. After all, there would be time for talking later. Also, I wanted to check on Sirius.

&-&-&-&-

I did indeed remember the way to my rooms. It looked as if I had never been gone, even though it had been countless years since I had actually been in them. Also, there was a pleasant surprise waiting for me. My sword had returned to my rooms as it always did when not on my person. I couldn't help but smirk. Let old Dumbledore figure out why he no longer had my blade.

Soon I was showered and shaved with the tender cares of a servant and garbed in new clothes in my colors, the black and silver with the silver rose clasped about my throat. Save for my hunger, I felt almost human again. Seeing as the dinner bell still had not rung, I decided to visit the infirmary to see how my erstwhile friend was doing.

Sirius Black was once again awake, looking around in fascination at what, to him, must have been a lot of fascinating medical instruments and other gizmos. Knowing that he had grown up almost exclusively in a world of magic, a world where electricity and most ordinary appliances and medicines were unknown coupled with the fact that he had not been outside of a prison cell in over six years, made a very subdued and intimidated Sirius Black, and that was just what I needed for now.

"How is he," I asked his attendant.

"Well, Lord, there doesn't seem to be any lasting physical damage. His malnutrition can be fixed fairly easily with good balanced meals and lots of exercise. I don't know how his mental health will be. From what he has told me, he has been imprisoned in a very awful place for over half a decade."

I nodded my thanks to the young man then bid him leave us. Once we were alone, I went and sat down on the edge of Black's bed.

"Welcome to Amber, Sirius Black," I started with.

"Well, from what I can tell, Amber does indeed consist of a very nice hospital wing," he said, and I could hear amusement in his voice.

"No time for jokes right now," I told him softly. "You need to understand a little about where we are."

The slight amusement on the emaciated face before me was gone in an instant.

"Remember how you told me that magic was not allowed to be discussed in front of non magical people who did not know about the wizarding world? Well, pretend that everyone else here is a muggle. Magic is not to be mentioned here at all, if you can help it. Once you are better, we will discuss it again and see what can be done to get you a new wand, but for now, as far as you know, magic does not exist."

He nodded wordlessly which encouraged me.

"In case I haven't told you before, my family is like a nest of snakes. You can only trust us so far. I am telling you this because while I don't care what you tell people about why you were imprisoned or other mundane facts about your life, even about our godson Harry, you are in no way, shape or form to tell them that Harry is my adopted son. As far as anyone here knows, I have no offspring. And that, Mr. Black, is an order."

He bristled a bit at that statement, then reluctantly nodded. "It's not like I have much choice in the matter," he eventually said.

"You obviously heard the report that was given on your health," I continued. "You can tell people that you were in a prison that employed mental torture of making you relive your worst fears, if you like. It is the truth, yet vague enough not to hint at any direct magic."

Again, he nodded.

"Finally, again with regard to your physical health, I have it in mind to put you in charge of whichever brother of mine happens to be commanding the troops of Amber at the moment. I assure you that you'll be back in top shape in no time." I made no attempt to disguise the evil gleam in my eye at that statement.

He gulped, then nodded.

"Excellent." I clapped my hands as I stood up. "I believe that you will have dinner of some sort very soon now. Get your rest, Sirius. I'm sure that you are very curious about the castle here and about Amber in general. The quicker you get back to full health, the quicker you'll be able to explore the area. I think you'll like it here."

"And Harry, what of him?"

I had been wondering the same thing myself. I had expected the earlier trump contact to be from Harry, and it somewhat worried me that I had yet to hear from him, especially given the time differential between Gilead and the shadow earth, let alone that of the outer world and Amber. Still, I resolved to put aside my misgivings for the time. After all, I had other things that I needed to worry about first.

"I'll hear from him soon, I'm sure," I told him. "If not, I'll make a trip to see how he's doing personally. If you're well enough by then, you may come with me if you wish."

Then, I left.

&-&-&-&-

Eric had not been exaggerating earlier when he said that there would be a surprisingly full table. Besides the usual grouping of lords and ladies and their servants, I was surprised to see just how many of my siblings were in residence. Caine was there, his swarthy presence flanking Eric on one side at the head of the table. Also in attendance at the head table were Julian and Gérard, the latter being the tallest of anyone there. Benedict was also present, and I did my best to steer clear of him. We had, after all, not parted on the best terms recently. The biggest surprise though was seeing Random in attendance. The last I had heard of him was that he was enjoying the hospitality of Amber's dungeons after attempting to assassinate Eric. He was accompanied by a short pleasant faced black haired girl who I took to be Vialle, the blind woman that he had been forced to marry due to his indiscretions in Rebma by Rebma's queen Moire. Of my sisters, only Flora was there. Of Deirdre, Fiona and Llewella there was no word.

All of us were given seats at the head table which was a bit surprising to me. After all, the last time I had been in this particular dining hall, I had been in chains and blinded to boot. Now, here I was enjoying the meal as a free man at the head table. What those around me must think now! While we supped, I made polite conversation with those around me which included my brother Random. Clearly, we were the two in the least favor of Eric as we had been seated at the other end of the table from him. That was fine with me.

From Random, I learned that he had been allowed out of the dungeon some two months after my own absence was noted. The price of his freedom had been to agree to work with Amber's troops for at least one year as the attacks from the shadows kept getting worse.

"I believe that is what Eric brought you here to discuss as well," Random said. "I am not certain, but I believes he thinks your curse upon Amber when your eyes were taken from you is somehow to blame for the increased level of violence."

I said nothing to that. What could I say? As far as I know, he was right about that.

The most shocking thing I learned which was also humorous to me was that at the end of the term that Random had agreed to be married as part of his punishment, he had found that he truly loved his wife, and no thought of dissolving the marriage remained in his mind. It was funny because of all my brothers, Random was the one that I had imagined being married the least. I suppose it just went to show that Random was certainly random. I learned that Benedict had taken charge of Amber's army with Caine as his sort of lieutenant. Julian was still in charge of the pathways to Amber through the forest of Arden, with Gérard now in charge of the navy completely. I sighed at hearing that. It appeared that my conversation with Benedict was not going to be able to be avoided after all.

Part way through the meal, Eric looked down the table and caught my eye and mouthed "study". I understood and reluctantly nodded my head.

Far too soon as far as I was concerned, dinner ended and we all began to go our separate ways. I waited until the person I needed to speak to was finished, then pushed myself back from the table and followed him as he left the hall. We said nothing for a moment as I fell in step with him, our footfalls muffled on the carpeted hallways. Finally, almost as though it was prearranged, we both stopped and turned to look at each other.

"Corwin." Benedict's greeting was cordial enough.

"Benedict." My own nod was just as polite as his had been. Seeing he was not about to try and plant his sword between my ribs anytime soon, I decided to get the most pressing issue over with immediately.

"Well, have you decided to tell me why you were calling me murderer during our last meeting as you were trying to reorganize my innards?"

That certainly brought a scowl to my oldest brother's face and hand seemed to stray almost involuntarily to the hilt of his weapon.

"Have a care, brother," his words had cooled a bit now. "I have still not made up my mind whether or not you had anything to do with their deaths, and I am not in the most charitable of moods towards you at this moment."

"Whose deaths," I practically growled.

Before I could register what was happening, I found myself with my feet dangling some six inches off the ground and a hand of steel clutching my throat. IT was not quite enough to cut off my air supply, but neither was it a friendly caress. Seeing his unchanged countenance reminded me just why I feared this man before me. Missing one arm he might be, but, if anything, that added to his formidable aura. I felt sweat begin to break out on my face, and I knew that in my somewhat weakened state from my little trip to Azkaban Prison that I was no match for this man. IT still baffled me how I had managed to best him during our recent altercation. If not for a devilish little trick involving our surroundings, I most likely would have died that day. Never before had I seen my brother so mercilessly set against me, and I hoped that I never would again.

Now, I forced myself to meet his eyes squarely. Slowly, he leaned towards me and the pressure in that mighty arm tightened slightly about my neck.

"Brother Corwin," he said softly, and now any trace of good humor was completely gone. "Only the slight doubt at your leaving me alive after our last encounter keeps my hand from ending your life right now. Don't test me, brother. You know I could do it easily."

He leaned closer still.

"I'm calling you a murderer because when I came to join you at my villa in Avalon, imagine my surprise finding you and your buddy Ganelon recently gone and my retainers slain and buried with their throats cut. Now, let me paint you a little picture. One of my brothers who I had not seen in years uncounted shows up just after I finish fighting a war, all but assures me that he has designs on the throne of Amber, takes me up on my hospitality after assuring me that he has no ill intentions towards Avalon, then departs a few days later, leaving only my murdered servants behind. What should I think, Corwin?"

In spite of my precarious situation, all I could do was gape. Put that way, the circumstances did indeed sound damning.

"You said it yourself, Benedict," I finally said. "If I had wanted to do you and yours harm, I would have killed you instead of knocking you unconscious and getting help for you at our battle on the Black Road. Don't be an idiot, brother. Do you think that I would so blatantly mock you by disposing of your servants and then making it so obvious? Do you think I would have really made such an obvious trail for you to follow through shadow, and do you think I would have wasted words and asked you for an explanation before we fought if I intended you harm?"

Deciding to go for broke, I continued.

"I'll tell you that Ganelon found two graves shortly before we left. They were a little distance from the grounds of your villa, and they looked fresh. All I can do is give you my word that I had nothing to do with their deaths, if those two graves were indeed those of your domestics."

For a moment, then, a terrible moment, his grip tightened around my neck and I felt sure that I was going to the clearing at the end of the path. Then, just as suddenly, his grip was gone and I was sitting on the carpeted floor, waiting for the spots to clear from my eyes. Benedict was looking down at me again, and that mild look was back on his face.

"For now, brother, I will take you at your word. Should I learn differently in the future, no shadow world will protect you from my vengeance."

With those parting words, he strode away from me without a backwards glance. So much for speaking to him about Sirius Black. I decided that I would have to try Random and see if he would take the man under his wing while I was otherwise occupied. Although much had happened since encountering Harry Potter, even if that was no longer his last name, I had not given up on my initial plan. I was sure by now that Helm would have gathered all of my supplies. Luckily, I had told him that I was uncertain as to exactly when I would be able to retrieve the guns and the special ammunition I had ordered. Luckily, obscene amounts of money were able to quell any questions the man may have had. What did it matter if the person making the odd request was insane if the right amount of money was involved.

Footsteps sounded in the hall headed in my direction, and I wearily got to my feet. I had not had any decent sleep in a while, and I wondered vaguely if that trend would continue this evening. A moment later, I was joined in the hall by Eric. He said not a word, but beckoned me to follow him. I did this thing, and was not at all surprised to find myself back in his study. After the perfunctory offer had drinks had been accepted, we sat sipping our whiskey in silence for a moment. I was waiting for my brother to begin, seeing as he had gone through such lengths to get me here. Finally, he sat his glass down and turned his full attention to me.

"IF someone had told me a year ago that you and I would be sitting in the same room without trying to end each other's lives, I would have sent them for mental testing. Surprising, the whims of fate sometimes." He gave a little chuckle completely devoid of humor.

"I'll cut right to the chase then, shall I? Even though we are here under truce, I want you to know that I don't trust you as far as I could toss Mount Kolvir. Too long have we been at odds with each other for anything other than enmity to rule in our dealings with one another. Yet, that matters not now. Only the welfare of Amber matters. For her well-being, any personal vendettas must be at least temporarily set aside."

His gaze intensified.

"I wish for your help with the Black Road," he stated flatly.

"Well, dear brother, I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more specific than that." There was nothing else for me to say. Everything that he had previously stated was basically true. There was no need for me to waste idle words.

"Don't take me for a fool, Corwin. You know I am not one."

"I'm not indicating any such thing. I merely wish you to state how you think I can help you with the Black Road. As of now, I know hardly anything about it except that it seems to span all shadows between here and, if Benedict's guess is to be believed, all the way to the Courts of Chaos."

"You are essentially correct. That is indeed the belief of Benedict as well as myself. Speaking of Benedict, and sidetracking the conversation for a moment, I must thank you. If not for your attack on his servants, I don't think he would have made contact with Amber or returned at such a fortuitous time."

Irritated, I slammed my hand down on the arm of my chair hard enough to cause cracks to form in the thick wood.

"I'll tell you what I told him. I had nothing to do with the deaths of his servants. The last thing I wanted to do was to have him following me through shadows. I knew very well that if I attempted any sort of treachery he would be after me and would almost certainly overtake me. I do not take you for a fool, brother Eric, and you should not do the same."

He waved my words off with a careless gesture. "It matters not. He is here now, and I am very pleased to have him here working to the defense of Amber."

He leaned towards me again.

"I have reason to believe that, intentionally or not, the Black Road is your creation. There have always been attacks out of the shadows, as you well know. However, it was not until after your blinding that we first noticed this new and extremely powerful entrance in to the real earth. I won't ask you the exact wording of your curse. I know you won't tell me, and it doesn't really matter now."

"Now that you have told me your theory of exactly how the Black Road came in to existence, perhaps you would tell me exactly what you want from me. Surely, you don't think that if this is indeed my creation that I have the means to close it off. I assure you that I do not have such means at my disposal."

"no, I don't think that you do have the means, at least not directly. However, I do think that you have one thing that could certainly help to protect the city that you claim to desire, the city where you were born. You have troops."

I laughed at him. I couldn't help it. Did the man actually think that I would place my troops at his command, no matter how much I loved Amber? Or perhaps, and this thought killed my mirth immediately, he had some idea that I had plans for those troops he had so casually inquired about.

What I told him was, "perhaps you think my supply is unlimited. Or maybe, it escaped your mind that I rallied over fifty thousand on our attempted assault over Mount Kolvir. Surely you don't think that I have an endless supply of troops who will follow me anywhere?"

"Don't take me for a fool," he snapped yet again. "You and I both know very well that even if that shadow is depleted of troops, you can create any shadow you want and can easily get more troops. Ah, I see it in your face. You haven't given up your foolish notion of taking the throne here in Amber."

He glared at me with undisguised loathing over his desk. I think he was regretting giving me his word of my safety.

"Corwin, if you bring troops against Amber again, they will suffer the same fate as last time. You must know that." He emphasized his point by raising a chain from around his neck so that I could see the glittering jewel that dangled from it. The Jewel of Judgment was indeed known to me. I had seen it many times when worn by my father before his disappearance from Amber. I had seen it used to great effect against Bleys and myself as we marched mercilessly through shadow towards Amber with our sacrificial troops dropping like flies seemingly at every foot along the way. I knew he was right. Or, rather, I knew that he thought he was right.

"Corwin, if you gather another force against Amber, next time I won't be so merciful. Next time, you will pay with your life, and no pleading by your brothers will stop it."

I ignored that last comment for the moment. "You still haven't told me exactly what you wanted. All you did was inquire as to getting you troops. What is to stop me from agreeing to bring soldiers to the succor of Amber and then turn on you once they arrived?"

"Quite simple, really." I couldn't miss the smugness in his voice. "Every other one of our siblings has sworn to make no move on Amber, whether overt or otherwise, as long as the Black Road still exists. They have also agreed to destroy any one of the family who attempts said treachery.

"You needn't take my word for it," he said, smug smile growing larger. "You are free to ask anyone else. Even that bastard Random has agreed."

"And what of Bleys and Brand?"

At the mention of Brand, a most peculiar look came over my brother's face. IT was gone in an instant, and I might have thought I had imagined it, yet I felt certain I had not. For a moment, I saw fear in that fearless face.

"No one has been able to reach Bleys. It is possible that he died from his fall from Kolvir. Brand is indisposed, and good riddance to him. We will discuss Brand at a later time. For now, though, everyone in residence and every one who we can contact via Trump is in complete agreement that the safety of Amber must come before sibling rivalries."

"You have my word that I will not make a move on the city while the curse that is the Black Road still exists. I am not certain that it is a figment of my curse, but then again I am not certain that it isn't. Also, what is more, I shall go away in a few days and try to gather an army to defend Amber if it comes to that. But be warned, should you make any move to attack me or should the Black Road be destroyed, then all bets are off."

He nodded at that. "It is well, then."

My curiosity was peaked, though, and I decided to ask a question of my own.

"What would you have done had I refused a cease fire?"

He smiled then, a truly malicious smile, and I was reminded again that he was one of the two swordsmen in all the worlds that I had my doubts about taking on. Yes, I had beaten him once before, but he would be prepared for me the next time.

"I would have kept my promise to you. I would have given you ten hours to vacate the city, and you would have been allowed to leave unmolested."

"There has to be more to it than that, if the look on your face is anything to go by."

"Oh there is, indeed. An hour after you had left Amber, myself and select others would all have joined together and contacted you by your Trump. It is a theory that I have been interested in testing, the fact that several of us together could overpower someone trying to block themselves from communication. We would have banded together, overpowered your mind, and then dragged you back to the dungeons. I would have kept my word, and yet you would be back where you rightfully should be."

I couldn't help it. I laughed. IT was truly a masterful plan.

"I'll even give my word that should anyone attempt treachery whilst the matter of the Black Road is being decided, I will join in with the rest of the family in destroying whoever is involved," I told my brother once I had calmed down.

I think we may have actually shared a smile.

&-&-&-&-

I was exhausted when I again returned to my chambers. Feeling daring after my little agreement with Eric, I had asked him to allow Sirius Black to train with the soldiers of Amber in order to regain his physical health. He had agreed after a moment, and I even suggested that he might give Black the option of enlisting in the army once he was back to full strength. I don't think he took that suggestion quite as well.

Exhausted, I undressed and laid back upon my bed. I hoped that the effects of the dementors would not keep me from getting a good night's sleep. I didn't have time to do more than think that last thought before I drifted off.

The nightmares of Azkaban did not disturb my rest. Nor was I to have a good night's sleep. I may have been in repose for an hour when I felt someone trying to reach me through my Trump. My first thought as I blearily opened my eyes was that Eric had lied to me, and his plan to return me to the dungeons was going forward regardless of my word to him. The next second though, the veil of sleep was slapped away as I gazed in to a pair of startling green eyes. The eyes were accompanied by a head full of messy, black hair with a prominent scar shaped like a lightning bolt clearly visible.

Harry had contacted me at last!

A/N: Well, obviously I didn't make my 50,000 words for NaNoWrimo. However, this story is so interesting to me that it will be continued. I think that I have plenty of steam built up for this one, and if I hit writer's block, there is another story that people have been clamoring for me to update that could use some attention [hint hint]. J


	15. 15 Time to Go

15. TIME to Go!

"HARRY!"

I was given little time to look at him right then. Of more concern to me was the blood that was flowing from what seemed to be a rather deep wound on the boy .. No, the young man's shoulder.

"Sir," he panted. "I need help. I think Ganelon might be in trouble, too."

I did not even take time to change my clothes but plucked Greyswandir from beside the bed where I had decided to keep it while in Amber. Otherwise, the only thing I took was my deck of Trumps.

"Hold out your hand," I told him. Harry did as I instructed and I grasped the hand, stepping forward.

I stood beside my son in a small yet modest apartment tastefully decorated in muted blues and greens. Little more did I take in before my attention was once more called to the severity of our situation as the door to the room shuddered before flying open.

There were three of them, each deeply hooded with nothing visible but the glimmer of three sets of malevolent eyes. They looked somewhat familiar to me as they advanced upon us, but I was given little time to figure out why that was. I saw the glint of metal in their hands, and swore viciously. Each was carrying guns. Luckily, my reflexes were still up to the task. Even as my brain took in the sight of firearms appearing in the assassins' hands, I had automatically unsheathed Greyswandir and, as the distance was too great for slashing, I hurled it the length of the room like a javelin. The blade somersaulted twice before coming to rest quivering in the chest of the first assailant. I followed the blade across the room knowing that I would not be fast enough to reach the remaining two. Even as the next attacker raised his weapon, a shot rang out behind me. He flew backward as blood fountained from his chest, and his deadly descent took him right into the path of the bullet from the third man. The blood from his chest was joined by a similar display this time pouring from his head. The third man pushed the dead body off of him and made to stand, but another report was heard and he slumped back down, never to rise again.

I mechanically retrieved my blade and, wiping it on the body of its victim, proceeded to replace it in its sheath. The whole time I was doing this, I was studying the boy (no, young man) in front of me marveling at the changes that the time had wrought in him in what to me was just a couple of weeks.

Gone were any signs of malnutrition. Gone too was the fearful and beaten look that had seemed to be a permanent part of him when we met. The mistreatment he had received as a child would ensure that he would never be a very tall man, but what he lacked in height, he more than made up for with a lithe body, muscle and well proportioned. Every movement he made as he automatically reloaded the gun that he was carrying spoke of deadly speed and grace. It took me a minute of simply staring at him in amazement before I realized one more thing. His eyes were apparently completely restored to excellent capacity, no longer requiring glasses to impede his vision.

Almost without thinking, I took a few steps towards him, still staring in astonishment. I had known that having some of my blood in his body to go along with the training he would be receiving would help him, but nothing could have prepared me for this. Even the blood that continued to make its way down his arm from what I now perceived to be a shallow cut on his shoulder did nothing but add to the impressive figure cut by my son.

"How long has it been for you?" It was all I could think of to ask.

"Over five years."

All I could do was slide bonelessly to the floor as my legs would not support me. If I had been shocked by Harry's appearance, the thought of how much of a time difference there truly was from the shadow earth was truly mind boggling!

"But how .. why didn't .. I can't believe .."

I shut my mouth with a snap. I, Corwin of Amber, was babbling like a mindless idiot. The barest hint of a smile appeared for an instant on Harry's face and was gone just as quickly. Finally, I tried again.

"When I left you here, Harry, I knew there would be a time difference. I swear to you I had no idea it would be nearly so great though. You may not believe this, but for me it has been maybe a month or two. Due to some unfortunate circumstances, I can't exactly say how long."

Was that a flicker of surprise I saw flash in his eyes? I wasn't sure. Those eyes that had been so easy to read when I intervened in his life were open and unguarded no longer.

"Why didn't you contact me before now?"

"I tried several times. Once Ganelon had showed me the mind calming techniques and meditation, he returned the Trump to me and encouraged me to contact you. I tried several times to do so over the years."

Although there was no visible change in his expression, the timber of his voice spoke slightly of a different tale. There was mistrust present in that tone, and that was only confirmed by his next words.

"I thought you had abandoned us here."

"Where is Ganelon now," I asked. "And come to that, why was he not here to help you with the three uglies over there? And come to that, what exactly happened here?"

"Ganelon is attending a banquet in honor of Stephen's son Roland. I believe he is passing down his guns to him today. I was invited as one of Roland's friends, of course, and was there for a couple of hours. I was attacked when I came back in my room here. Oh, and there were not three attackers, there were five."

He motioned with his head towards a corner of the room where two more bodies had previously escaped my attention. One had clearly been shot while the other had seemingly grown eyes in the back of his head. Seeing that, I did not think that being a chiropractor lay anywhere in Harry's future.

"Those two were waiting in the room for me when I got back. Apparently, the others were simply backup. After I had taken out those two, getting a slight knife wound in the process, I decided to try and reach you again. I had hoped that this time might be more successful. I wanted backup in case anyone else decided for a go at me tonight. I didn't dare leave the room in case of more assassins, which as you can see proved fortunate. Therefore, my only other option was you."

"Well, you certainly have done quite a job on your attackers tonight," I couldn't help but comment. "Perhaps we should go and let our host know what has happened. We can retrieve our wayward friend in the process."

Impulsively then, I stepped to Harry and embraced him. I was surprised at how much I had missed him in the time since our parting.

"It is good to see you again, son," I said, trying out the word. It felt right on my lips.

He returned the gesture for a moment, then stepped back with a slight grimace. I cursed myself for a fool. I had forgotten that he had been wounded.

&-&-&-&-&-

Harry led me through several stone passages and down several flights of stairs. Only the wind moaned its way through some unseen entrances to accompany our footsteps. Neither spoke, each lost in our own thoughts. Eventually, though, I began to hear other voices that were accompanied by some upbeat little tune that sounded vaguely familiar. It might have been Hey Jude.

Eventually, we arrived at a great set of double doors through which the sounds of merry-making were coming. Harry reached forth to push one open, but swayed slightly on the spot. I reached my own hand to place it on his uninjured shoulder when he swayed again, and this time he was unable to keep his balance. I caught him easily enough, and pushed open one of the doors with my shoulder as I bore him in my arms.

"OY, WE NEED HELP OVER HERE!"

If I had not been so worried about Harry, I would have been amused at the uproar my shout caused. More than a dozen people leapt to their feet at my call, and guns were in every hand. Clearly things had greatly worsened around here if the inhabitants of Gilead were so ready for an attack. Luckily, no shots were fired, however. One other man had risen also. It was my old friend Stephen, although at first I didn't recognize him. I had never seen anyone age so much in five years. The man looked almost ready to collapse. Nevertheless, he had not lost the power of his voice, and it rose in a sharp command over all the others in the room.

"GUNS DOWN!"

Almost faster than I could blink, all of the weapons were put away, and Stephen Deschain was making his way towards me with a slightly taller, much younger replica of himself in tow. Two other youths also hurried in our direction.

"Is that Harry? What's wrong with him?"

It took me a minute to recognize the lad, as the last time I had seen him, he was no where near as tall and graceful. Allgood, I believed his name was, Cuthbert Allgood.

"He was stabbed," I told him and the others once they reached us. "He said two assassins were waiting in his room. They're dead now, as are the three that followed them. One of them managed a glancing blow with a dagger, but it shouldn't have caused this kind of reaction unless it was poisoned."

I noticed a strange look pass fleetingly over young Roland's face. I doubt that anyone other than perhaps Steven saw it. I made a point of finding out what that look was all about once Harry was out of danger.

"Alain, fetch two nurses and meet us back in Harry's room," Steven ordered the other boy who had come over. He hastened to comply.

Hardly had he moved away than a shout rang out from down the corridor behind me. Turning, one hand cradling my son while the other hand was automatically reaching for my sword, I was surprised to see Ganelon sprinting (or more like staggering) towards us. At first, I thought he was wounded, so radically did he weave from side to side. It was only when he got closer that the real culprit was revealed. The man was totally and completely snookered. He grinned sloppily at me and opened his mouth in greeting before he caught sight of Harry, and all good cheer and some of the completely smashed look left his face.

"Whazza matter with Har-Har-Harry?"

"He was stabbed in an assassination attempt. Perhaps if you weren't quite so smashed off your head, this wouldn't have happened."

It was taking all of my restraint to keep from plunging my blade through that bastard's foolish heart, and only my continued support of Harry saved his life that night, I think.

"I'm sorry," Ganelon said, and I was pleased that he was not so far gone as to notice the barely contained rage dancing in my eyes. "Harry was still here at the banquet when I left. I had left here with a friend."

I did not miss the emphasis he put on the word "friend".

"We were attacked in my room while we were performing certain activities," he said next. Knowing the man as I did, I knew that there had been more than drinking going on in his quarters. Normally, I would have applauded him in his endeavors, but my son's life had been at risk, and though I was completely new at being a father, I expected Ganelon to have my son's protection on the top of his priority list when I was not around. His next words brought me back to the reality that there were more serious matters to consider.

"As I said, we were attacked in the midst of certain enjoyable activities. There were four of them." Looking over at Steven, his voice carried a note of sorrow with his next statement. "Misha didn't make it."

Just then, Harry gave a slight moan in my arms. I was sorry for Ganelon and his loss, but right now, Harry mattered more. I turned to Cuthbert Allgood and asked him to show the way back to Harry's apartment. He nodded, and we headed off. I turned my head to shout over my shoulders for Ganelon to take care of whatever he needed to before he joined us in my apartments. I knew he would not be happy at my dismissal of his predicament, but right now Harry mattered more.

IT took us nearly five minutes to retrace our steps, and I was growing more concerned by the minute as we advanced. Harry had started to thrash and call out in his sleep. Most of the words he muttered were gibberish, but a few stuck out. I heard what sounded like "Uncle Vernon … No more cupboard … Straighten up, maggot (that caused me a grin, for I knew very well where that came from) …" and a few more inane mutterings.

IT was not until we had returned to his apartment and I had laid Harry down on his bed that I noticed that young Roland had followed us as well. Before I could ask him what he wanted or question him about his strange look at my mention of the knife wound Harry had received, we were joined by Alain and two robed women carrying bags with them. They glanced in dismay at the obvious battle that had taken place in the apartment, but then, spotting Harry as he lay upon the bed tossing and muttering, all signs of unease left and they hastened to his side, demanding to know what was wrong. I gave them a brief accounting of the events that had taken place since I had rejoined him. Once I told them my theory about the blade being poisoned, they told me to stop and began to poke and prod their patient, muttering to each other about this and that. It wasn't long before they began barking orders at us, and even now years later, I still smile at the image of Roland, Cuthbert, Alain, and myself rushing about to get the necessary items the nurses called for. Boiling water was used, countless wash cloths also. At some point, I believe they even submerged him in a tub of freezing water. The thrashing that ensued from that icy bath was not something that I would ever forget. How many hours we all fought to save Harry's life, I do not know. I could tell that my young companions were all on the verge of collapsing in exhaustion by the time that the two nurses pronounced Harry out of danger. The two of them did not look much better than the boys did. Steven and Ganelon were sent for and they were given the good news. Both of them looked haggard and worn as well, and I learned later that they had done a complete and thorough search of the keep to make sure that no more assassins were roaming around. I could tell that the news of this attack in the midst of their very home had upset Steven greatly.

An extra bed was brought in to the apartment for me, and I laid down and slept for a few hours. When I again awoke, Harry was still asleep. I was pleased to see, however, that the color had started to return to his face. I sat up and swung my legs to the floor, only then noticing that Roland had returned and sat vigil in a chair beside Harry's bed.

"He has been a good friend to me over the years since he has been here," the young man said softly. He was not looking at me, but I knew the words were meant for my ears.

"I think in many ways, he is closer to a real brother to me than are any of the others, though I have known each of them longer."

Roland sighed then, and I was surprised to hear the weariness and sorrow that emanated from that sound.

We talked then, this young old boy of Steven Deschain's and I, and I found myself liking him more and more. I saw strength in him matched only by his determination and ruthlessness. I saw great love for those whom he considered family, and, though he did not speak of it, I saw a great and terrible rage waiting to be unleashed upon his enemies. He told me of his defeat of Cort and his own coming of age, the youngest ever to pass his test, younger than his father by over a year. He talked of being sent out east by his father to get him out of Marten's reach, speaking the name of Marten with such venom that I almost flinched backward at the hatred in his voice.

He told of their bittersweet journey to Mejis on the Clean Sea. I listened, fascinated, as he gave a brief description of the troubles they had encountered there. I was surprised when he told me of a magical pink ball, something he referred to as part of the Wizard's Rainbow, and of its potentially useful and often deadly ability to show events that were occurring that could affect the one looking in to it. There was deep pain in his voice as he told me this part of the tale, and I did not ask him to elaborate. I listened with pride as he told of their ambush of the cruel bastard that went by the name of Eldrid Jonas, he that led a group known as the Big Coffin Hunters. He spoke with grim delight of Harry's take down of one of the main leaders of those forces, a fellow named Roy Depape. He told me that after the second battle against Farson's forces, he, Roland, had looked in to this Wizard's Rainbow and seen the death of someone he cared about. He would not go in to detail, and I gathered that the death was still too painful for him to discuss with someone who was practically a complete stranger. Part of me wondered if he had discussed it with anyone at all.

"I looked in the Wizard's Rainbow, or Maerlyn's Rainbow, if you prefer, one more time. That was yesterday. I saw a man give daggers to two people. I only saw one of the men clearly in the rainbow. That man was not able to complete his mission, sadly. He was just the messenger, tasked with passing his dagger on to the real assassin. Sadly for him, he did not make it. You see, my father was not meant to have lived past last night. The other person obviously did receive his poisoned weapon. I am sorry that I was not able to prevent this travesty from occurring as well."

He looked at me with a studying look then.

"While I am very glad that Harry is still alive, I don't understand how it can be so. From what I overheard, both of these daggers were meant to cause nearly instantaneous death with just the merest scratch from these blades. They were made in the land of Garlan, a kingdom that has long been famous for its various poisons. Then again, there are many things that I don't understand about Harry. Many strange things have happened around him, magical I would say."

He told me how a stone had mysteriously broken loose from the castle's wall one day, and had fallen right at Harry's head. Roland and Cuthbert had been walking through the courtyard and had seen it all, but both had been too far away to have a chance at pushing Harry out of the way. They had watched in horror as the rock neared Harry's head, both boys expecting him to be crushed to powder. Roland said that they had watched in amazement as Harry had thrown up his hands in a gesture of protection, only to watch in amazement and confusion as the rock had seemingly bounced off an invisible barrier and ricocheted off course just enough to avoid any contact with Harry.

He also told how one day not long after Harry had begun joining in the training under Cort's tender mercies, how Cort's hair had mysteriously turned blue after he had called Harry a waste of good sperm and decked him for not paying attention. He said that no matter what was tried, that blue hair had remained. Eventually, Cort had been forced to shave his head bald and let his hair grow out again. Fortunately for him, this seemed to do the trick. We both had a good chuckle over that.

&-&-&-&-&-

IT was two days later when Harry finally regained consciousness. By that time, word had leaked out to the rest of the keep as to what had happened. Also, the dagger that he had been stabbed with was found on the body of what was guessed to be the assassin leader. Close analysis revealed that the poison on the blade should have been nearly instantaneously fatal. Harry began to be spoken of with wonder and not a little fear by those with superstitious beliefs. Even Cuthbert and Alain seemed to be treating Harry with a slight difference in attitude. He said nothing, but I could tell that he was not at all happy with the turn of events. Only Roland remained the same. He visited every day a couple of times, and he and Harry spoke long and earnestly to each other over various topics.

Three days after that, Harry was declared fit enough by the nurses to be allowed out of bed. Actually, I think he would have left regardless of what they told him. He had told me that he was going stir crazy and hated being cooped up for any length of time. I did not tell him, but I strongly suspected that he would always hate periods of inactivity as well as being trapped in small rooms, thanks to his kind and loving relatives. Luckily, his apartment was adequately sized and the company was certainly better.

I remained a guest in the keep of Gilead for two weeks. I used that time to evaluate Harry and see what other skills he had learned. I was amazed at how quick his reflexes were on the draw. Of all the others who I saw draw their revolvers, only Roland had any hope of matching Harry's speed, and that was a close thing in and of itself. Also, Harry's eyesight impressed the hell out of me. Again, only Roland's vision equaled that of my son. Harry was also very skilled with throwing knives, only being surpassed by, you guessed it, Roland. His tracking skills were also displayed for my approval, and proved very adequate, far superior to my own. Pride in someone else was a new thing to me, but those few weeks spent watching my son showcase how much he had learned in five years made me the proudest papa ever, or so I believe.

Alas, all periods of rest must come to an end, otherwise there would be nothing to tell and the point of telling you about my amazing son would be a moot one. It was, therefore, with a heavy heart that I made my intentions to return to Amber known to Harry and my hosts one night after going on a hunt with Steven and several of the other gunslingers.

"So when are we leaving?"

The question from my son took me by surprise. I don't know why it did, but such was the case.

"Don't you want to stay here and continue learning with your friends? Yes, I know that Roland is a fully fledged gunslinger now, and Cuthbert and Alain have been granted their prenticeships."

"Yes, but we have been separated for over five years. I'm not expert in the whole father son relationship, but I don't think it's normal for parents to go several years without seeing their kids, only to disappear again for another several years."

I refrained from telling Harry that this was indeed how my father had raised all of his children. HE would be around, paying some indifferent sort of attention to the family for a period of time, then he'd get moody and restless and disappear for a year or ten. Then again, I could see Harry's point. After some time I decided that he was right. He would not receive the same treatment that I received at the Oberon School of Child Mismanagement.

"You are sure, then, that this is your wish, to leave Gilead now and go on to new things? Once you decide to leave now, we will not return to this shadow for some time, if ever."

"Or at least until I walk the Pattern," Harry said, and I saw that the years had not dimmed his excitement to tackle this task..

"No. If you leave now, you will never be able to return to this exact shadow at this exact time. You may find some world similar to this, but there will always be some sort of difference. You may return at some point in the future, but you will not be able to return to the exact time that you left here, if that makes sense."

"In some sort of vague way, it does," he said. Then, he grew serious. "Things have changed a lot. I can feel a great change in the air, and I don't think that Gilead will survive it. If my staying here would help to change the tide of things to come, I would gladly do so in payment of all that Steven and the others have done for me. However, I know that I must go on. I don't know how I do, but it doesn't change the fact."

"You display wisdom beyond your years, young Harry," said a voice from behind me. I jerked in surprise, cursing myself for an inattentive idiot. It did not improve my mood that Harry did not even flinch. He must have known we had a visitor before the man spoke.

Steven Deschain strode in to Harry's apartment past where I stood next to the door and came to a stop in front of Harry. Those blue bombardier's eyes fixed unwaveringly on Harry's own green.

"Or," Steven continued, the challenge in his voice evident. "Some would call it cowardice. Perhaps, some might even use the word treason to describe your thoughts."

To my intense pride, Harry did not back down. His stare never wavered.

"Or some," he replied, "might realize that it is wiser to choose one's battles rather than die needlessly. If I thought my staying here would save whatever dark menace is stalking New Canaan, I would stay, even if it meant my life. I will not throw my life away needlessly, though."

"Yes, perhaps you are indeed wise enough to choose your own way. I am both glad and sad that you were not brought under the fervor of questing for the Dark Tower, like I feel Roland will soon attempt."

Harry's expression did not change, thus I was more than a little surprised to see a single tear make its way down his young cheek. Steven, though, smiled knowingly.

"If I thought Roland and the others would desist from their quest for the Tower, I would ask them to come with me. However, Roland, at least, has his mind made up. Whatever happened to him in the Wizard's Glass has changed him in ways that I don't think even he yet understands. But one thing is clear. He will never stop until he reaches the Dark Tower, or he reaches the clearing at the end of the path."

Steven stepped forward then and drew Harry in to a tight embrace.

"You have been a most apt student of the gun, Harry, and it saddens me to see you leave. Yet I won't claim that I do not understand your reasoning. For what it is worth, may the blessing of this old man go with you."

So saying, he placed a gentle kiss on Harry's brow then stepped back. He turned to leave then, or so I thought. I was surprised when he stepped from the room then returned with a package wrapped in oil cloth.

"I have no great words of wisdom to go with you, but hopefully this will help you in your endeavors and remind you of these last bitter days of the glory that was once Gilead. Sadly, the world has moved on as we say, and now, you must move on with it."

So saying, he handed Harry the package, bowed deeply to him, less deeply to me, and then left for good. Harry reverently unwrapped the package that Steven had given him, gasping in amazement as he did. I could not blame him.

The guns were not the same as those formerly worn by Steven, but they were still noble to look upon. The sandalwood grips were very similar, yet no metal plating had been added to the grips to make them more accessible for a taller man. Other than that, only some initials carved in to each stock differentiated them from those worn by Deschain.

"I know these guns," Harry nearly whispered. "They were worn by Charles, son of Charles. He was always kind to me, if a bit too formal for my liking. His passing is very sad."

He stood in silence for a moment, a moment of respect for the fallen gunslinger. Then, with a new sparkle to his green eyes, he removed the clumsy revolver that had been dangling off his hip, the one designating him as a gunslinger prentice, and buckled the new weapons in their place. When he straightened from his task, I saw resolve etch itself firmly in his features.

"I must say my goodbyes tonight, sir. I feel that tomorrow morning, we should leave as soon as possible before I have the chance to change my mind."

I nodded to him, a strange feeling of anticipation building in my stomach. Yes, we would stay here in this dying outpost of civilization one more night. It would give me a chance to plan our next move. Now that Harry was leaving with me, I decided that it would not be prudent to return to Amber right away. I still wanted to see what, if any sword training, Ganelon had given him as well as determine how else I might be able to help educate my son. Then, it would be time to put Harry to the ultimate test, that of traversing the Pattern. The one in Amber was out. There were too many nosy relatives, and I wanted Harry to remain a secret to my family as much as possible. I would somehow manage to get Sirius Black out of Amber to join us as well. I thought it would be a good thing for him to begin teaching Harry how to incorporate magic in to his already formidable weaponry. As far as the Pattern was concerned, I decided that either the one in Rebma would be the best, or, depending upon whether I was able to get a Trump of Harry, Tir-na Nog'th might be the best option. Oh well, that was something to be decided tomorrow.

I undressed and got into bed, ready for one last night of sleep in this lonely world. Before I did fall asleep, I gave a silent thanks to all that my friend had done for my son and, by extension, for me. My last thought as sleep claimed me was that Steven was right. It was definitely time to move on.

&-&-&-&-&-

A-n: Wow, this was a tough one to write. Well, we have finished with the Dark Tower crossover, probably. Up next, I think we'll probably skip ahead a little. If there is a point you think I should skip to, please feel free to leave it in a review. Also, for this crossover, Stephen King owns the wonderful world of the Dark Tower series. If you have not read those books, you are cheating yourself out of a great read.


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